Falling Through
by Alma Gloriosa
Summary: Voldemort won't die, so Harry sets off on his own to find answers. Instead, he finds Sam and Dean Winchester. Full summary inside. Harry/Dean
1. Chapter 1

**Falling Through**

Summary: Harry Potter searched for months to find and destroy all of Voldemort's Horcruxes so that the Dark Lord could be killed, but on the day of what should be the final battle, he finds that the evil wizard still won't die. The side of light is forced to retreat into hiding, but Harry and his friends and allies can find no clue to the mystery that surrounds Voldemort's immortality. With no options left, Harry knows that he must follow his instincts and set off on his own if he has any hope of finding the answer. But before he can find the information he seeks, he stumbles upon Sam Winchester, knee deep in demons and reeling from the death of his last remaining family: Dean. Little does Harry know that his journey is only just beginning, and the truth is much larger and more frightening then he ever could have imagined.

Pairings: Harry/Dean (possibly others?)

Authors Notes: All right, I want to start by clarifying that, yes, this is another HP/SPN crossover with a Harry/Dean pairing. But I haven't seen any wherein Voldemort is still alive, so I think that should be enough of a twist to make it different than what's out there. Harry Potter canon is mostly intact, though I'm probably going to ignore most of the lore about the Deathly Hallows, or at least ignore the fact that Dumbledore thought they were so important in Voldemort's downfall. You'll see why soon enough. There will probably be a few other small changes, mostly to events in DH, that will become apparent, but nothing that will drastically affect the plot.

The timelines are set up such that the end of (what would have been) Harry's seventh year coincides with the end of SPN Season 3 (if you couldn't guess that from the summary). Thus, the story will begin with Season 4 of SPN and after the end of HP (ignoring the epilogue, of course. There will be spoilers for all four seasons, and probably for some information in Season 5 as well, so if you don't want to know, I suggest you turn back now.

One last thing to all of you out there who may fear I've given up on To The Night: I haven't! I promise. I got stuck on it for awhile, and though I started working on it again, it's not in sequence for the plot, so I don't have anything to post right now. I can pretty much promise that you're not going to get an update until at least December though, as I'm technically doing this fic for Nanowrimo (and, I might add, am terribly behind on, but I have the whole week of Thanksgiving off from work and I'm hoping to play catch-up then). But I wanted to assure you all that I still have every intention of finishing it. That being said, if you're into HP and SPN, I hope you'll give this fic a try as well.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Supernatural. I truly wish I did, but then I would actually be making money from it, not posting it on here, which would mean I could quit my job and maybe be happy, and that, of course, could never happen.

* * *

_Falling Through, Chapter One_

Harry was fairly certain that he had a high tolerance for putting up with other people's annoying habits and mercurial moods. He was, after all, best friends with Ron and Hermione, and he had been known to get into a snit of his own now and then. Even so, he was beginning to lose his patience with Sam.

It wasn't that he didn't have sympathy for the older guy. He, like Harry, had no family left, and, worse, it wasn't as though he'd grown up that way. He'd had his father and, most recently, his older brother. An older brother who had voluntarily gone to hell so that Sam might live. Ruby, of course, had been the one to reveal the details about Dean's death; Sam had been reluctant to tell Harry about his family at all.

There was also the fact that Sam was on some sort of mission. He wasn't so different from Harry in that regard, though his own mission had something to do with demons. Like with his family, Sam wouldn't say much, so Harry didn't know if his actions were because of some fated purpose or because he chose it. It didn't matter either way, he supposed, because from the little Sam had said on the matter, it was clear that he believed it was his duty.

Even so, Harry was about moments from blowing up at his new companion. He understood, maybe more than anyone, what Sam was going through, and though he had gotten down at times and angry at times, he didn't think he'd ever been this ridiculous. Sam would go off alone with Ruby and come back almost manically happy one time, angry the next. More often angry than happy, but either of those emotions could give way to an apathetic depression that worried Harry the most.

Of course, Harry knew that _he_ was the one butting in here, the one who had shown up out of nowhere and announced his intentions to follow Sam around. To be fair, Sam had taken it better than most would have, maybe better than he should have, even assuming that Harry had saved his life. Twice. And for that Harry was thankful. But now … something was happening with Sam, and Harry knew he needed to do something about it, the same way he'd known to leave England, the same way he'd known exactly where he needed to be when he'd save to save Sam from the demons in Lilith's trap. Which was why he didn't know how much longer he could sit there and listen to Sam slamming books around without really looking into any of them and making little angry growling noises that Harry was fairly certain Sam didn't know he was making aloud.

When Sam began mumbling to himself, followed by: "Why the hell are all of these demon references so damn vague?" he was saved from Harry's built-up wrath only by a knock that sounded on the door.

Probably the pizza Harry had ordered. Sam had claimed he wasn't hungry, but Harry was, and he knew from experience that the hunter needed to eat something after a meeting with Ruby. Sam looked over at Harry and acknowledged the intrusion by heading into the bathroom.

Harry sighed and stood up, looking after Sam for a moment before moving to the door of the hotel room and pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. He was still holding it when he peered out the door -- he wasn't stupid enough to open it without at least checking for a possible threat -- and was dismayed to find two men standing there, one who looked to be a couple years older than Sam and one who looked to be in his fifties, neither holding a pizza.

Putting the wallet away, Harry fingered the tip of his wand, easily accessible from its hiding place inside his sleeve, and pulled the door open. The men seemed startled when they caught sight of him. Perhaps they were here for Sam? But if so, how had they found him?

"Since you're clearly not here delivering a pizza, what can I help you with?" Harry asked.

At the sound of his voice -- the accent, Harry suspected -- both men seemed to deflate a little bit. "Is this room 213?" the older one asked.

"Yes," Harry replied. "What do you need?"

"Nothing, I think," the younger replied, his voice rough. "We must have been given the wrong room number. Sorry to bother you."

They began to turn away, but Harry had a strong feeling that they hadn't gotten the wrong room. "Wait," he called.

They turned back, the older one slightly eclipsing the younger, but before anyone could say anything else, a voice sounded from behind Harry.

"Bobby?"

Harry turned to look at Sam as his eyes trailed from the older man to the second person standing outside their room.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "What the fuck?" he exclaimed. "Bobby, what the hell is going on?"

"Now, Sam," Bobby said placatingly. "Just calm down for a minute and let us explain."

Harry watched, head swiveling back and forth between the two parties. Sam's previous anger had morphed into rage.

"Get inside," he growled.

Harry stepped back, allowing entrance for the two men, the cogs in his head beginning to turn. He was only just beginning to suspect that something impossible was true (it wasn't as though Harry hadn't witnessed the impossible before) when, upon the shutting of the door, Sam pounced into action. Before Harry could say or do anything, his companion had the younger man pinned up against the wall, holding him firmly by the biceps.

"What the hell are you?" Sam yelled. "Christo!" But the man didn't flinch.

"Honestly, Sam, do you think that wasn't the first thing I checked?" Bobby asked scathingly.

"What, you're a shapeshifter, then?" Sam yelled.

"He's not a shifter," Bobby interrupted again, this time trying to pull Sam away from the younger man.

Harry paused only for a moment to consider his actions; he knew what he had to do. Quickly drawing his wand from his sleeve, he drew it and pointed it at Bobby before using his left arm to pull him away from Sam. Bobby, of course, wasn't exactly pleased by this and took a swing at Harry before he had even focused on the wizard. Because of what Sam had taught him about fighting so far -- not enough in Harry's opinion, now that he knew all of the things out there his wand likely would have much effect on -- he was able to bend out of the way. This left Bobby unbalanced enough that Harry was able to shove him a good few steps back, and further away from Sam, and to make sure that the man got a good look at his wand. Harry didn't particularly want to use magic on someone who wasn't a threat, or at least whom he suspected wasn't, but he couldn't take any chances. Although Bobby likely didn't know what the wand was, Harry could tell that he recognized it as a weapon. He grumbled a little bit, but he didn't try to make any more movements. Harry kept an eye trained on him, just to be sure.

Sam, who still had a firm hold on the younger of their two visitors, didn't say anything to either stop or encourage Harry, but he did seem more comfortable without Bobby at his back. He turned to face his captive.

"What, did you honestly think I'd be stupid enough to fall for this?" Sam asked, voice rising again. "How did you get this form? And what did you do to Bobby? Or is he not really Bobby?"

"I didn't do anything to Bobby, Sammy," the man pled, not even struggling. "He believes me because I'm telling the truth. I'm not a shifter. It's me. Dean. Your brother."

Although, on some level, this was what Harry had been expecting to hear, it still took him so much by surprise that he couldn't move for a long moment. This was his excuse for why he was able to do nothing but watch what happened over the next few minutes.

Sam didn't seem as affected as Harry by Dean's words. "You can't be him. You're fucking lying. You can't be Dean!" he yelled.

Dean seemed to be getting frustrated. "It's _me_, Sammy, in the flesh."

It was clear to everyone in the room that they weren't getting anywhere. It seemed they might be at an impasse when, in a split second, Dean's face scrunched up in exertion and he shoved Sam off of him, reaching down and pulling a knife out of his boot. Before either Sam or Harry could prepare to defend themselves, Dean lifted the knife to his own arm and pulled the silver blade across it. A line of blood formed and began dripping down his arm.

"See Sam? A silver blade - would you like to check it yourself? - and my blood's not burning, I'm not dying. Just a normal, human wound. Do you believe me now?" he asked. "Or do you want me to drink some holy water? Is there some other test I can do to prove it?"

Sam just stood there for a minute, as frozen as Harry, before all the anger fell from his face, giving way to relief and happiness and just a little bit of confusion. Then he sprang into action again, this time pulling Dean into a hug rather than attacking him, holding onto his brother's form as if it were life itself. Dean clung back; Harry could only see Dean's face, not Sam's, but the tears that were shining in his eyes probably mirrored Sam's, and quite suddenly Harry felt like a voyeur, watching them. He turned away, belated lowering his wand from Bobby and sticking it back up his sleeve.

Then the moment passed, Sam and Dean stepped away from each other, and the four men all looked around at each other.

"All right," Sam finally spoke. "So you're really Dean. But how?"

"That's exactly what we were going to ask you," Bobby replied with excessive seriousness, in Harry's opinion, anyway. "And another question that needs to be asked: why the hell you got a wizard staying with you?"

Harry, who had been looking at Dean now that he had a chance to do so without suspicion, turned to look at Bobby. "You know what I am?" he asked.

"Of course I know, you're carrying a damn wand, aren't you? What else would you be, idjit?"

Harry felt his face redden. "Sam didn't know," he defended.

"Yeah, well, Sam wouldn't have," Bobby replied. "But I have more experience than him."

Harry brushed his fingers over the tip of his wand, itching to pull it out again. "You're not going to try and … kill me, are you?"

"Not yet," Bobby deadpanned.

"Not at all," Sam interrupted. "Harry can be trusted."

"You trust too easily, Sam," Dean told him, looking over at the young man. Even though he was referring to the wizard, Harry couldn't help but agree. "So maybe you trust him, but that doesn't mean I do."

"Yeah, well, at this point, I don't even know if I can trust you for sure," Sam shot back. "You may be Dean, but you've been in hell for four months."

"He has a point, Dean," Bobby cut in. "I know you said you don't remember anything, but do you feel any differently? At all …"

"Demonic?" Dean asked. "No! It's _me_, you guys, it's the same me."

"So how exactly did this same you get _out_ of hell then? Last I heard, the demons weren't just letting people walk free, especially not one they want as much as you," Sam pointed out.

"We were hoping you would know something about that, Sam," Bobby said gravely. "And from the sounds of it, you do."

When Sam didn't deny it right away, Dean pounced on his silence. "How much did it cost you, Sammy?" he yelled. "How much time you got left? I hope they gave you a better deal than they gave me, but I sincerely doubt it. You're Sam Winchester."

"It didn't cost anything," Sam replied tightly. He could see the looks of doubt in Bobby and Dean's faces. "It didn't! They wouldn't make a deal. There's a new crossroads demon, and … they wanted you down there, Dean, more than they wanted me."

"But … that doesn't even make sense," Dean reasoned.

"No," Sam agreed. "It really doesn't. Especially if Lilith's the one who holds the deals. I thought she wanted _me_ dead more than anything."

"So the question becomes: what demon with enough power to pull you out of hell would actually want to pull you out, and for what purpose? Whoever it was didn't do it out of the goodness of their hearts," Bobby reasoned.

"And whatever they're planning must be big," Sam added. "Otherwise they wouldn't risk bringing Lilith's wrath down upon themselves."

Harry was silent as Bobby and the brothers reasoned amongst themselves, but he had other ideas. "What if it wasn't a demon at all?"

All three men looked at him skeptically. "What else would it have been?" Dean asked.

"I don't know!" Harry replied. "But you've all said you can't imagine what demon would have the power and everything to be able to do it and to risk doing it, so maybe it wasn't a demon. I mean, it's possible, isn't it?"

"I don't know of anything else that _could_ do it," Bobby replied. "And it's doubtful you're going to find anyone who would. But yes, I suppose theoretically it could have been something else."

Sam sighed heavily. "And so that leaves us with … absolutely nothing."

"Well." They all looked over at Dean. "Well, there is this one thing."

He stripped off his jacket and then pulled up the sleeve of his tee shirt, revealing a raised red welt in the shape of a hand print.

"And," Dean added, "look at the rest of my body."

He lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing a smooth, pale abdomen. His body was tight and well defined; Harry wasn't sure of the significance of what he was seeing, but he couldn't deny the jolt that tightened his stomach at the sight. It made him distinctly uncomfortable, and so he looked away towards Sam.

"All of your old scars," Sam was saying. "They're gone."

"Do you have any idea what could do something like this?" Dean asked.

"Not a clue," Sam replied. "But I'm starting to like Harry's not-a-demon theory more and more."

"I don't have a clue either," Bobby cut in. "But whatever it was that saved Dean, it was something more powerful than we've ever encountered."

"So what do we do now?" Sam asked, stepping back and lowering himself onto the edge of his bed. "Where do we even begin?"

"Pontiac, Illinois," Bobby said. Everything went quiet for a moment. "What? I know a psychic there. Whatever is going on, it's big. Maybe the spirits are talking about it."

"What are we waiting for?" Dean asked. "Let's go."

"Let me pack up my stuff," Sam said, nodding his head in agreement. "Come on, Harry."

The two companions stood up, Sam moving to one side of the room and Harry the other, where he began gathering up a few pieces of stray clothing, books he'd been reading, and other odds and ends.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa,. What do you think you're doing, wizard boy?" Dean asked. Harry looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. "This is good-bye. _We're_ going to the psychic. You're going back to wherever you came from."

"Dean!" Sam interrupted. "You're coming, Harry. Unless you don't want to."

"Sam, he's a _wizard_," Dean argued.

"And you're a jackass, you don't see me wanting to leave you behind," Sam replied.

"Ignorant morons," Bobby drawled, cutting off the arguing brothers. "A wizard's magic is his own, Dean; there's nothing inherently good or evil about it. I'm not saying I trust 'im yet, but I'd trust him as much as any hunter who's been with Sam for a few months and not tried to hurt him."

"Thank you, Bobby," Sam replied, sending Dean a little glare.

"I'm not finished," Bobby responded. "As for you, idjit, why would you take up with a wizard when you didn't even know what he was capable of?"

Sam didn't respond right away, considering his words. "I didn't have a choice, Bobby."

"What the hell does that mean?" Bobby asked.

He didn't get an answer. Sam just turned away and continued packing; Harry followed his lead, choosing to put his things away muggle-style. He'd only just begun using his magic casually around Sam, and he knew that it would make Dean and Bobby extremely uncomfortable at this point. They were still ready to go within minutes.

"Do you mind taking the back, Harry?" Sam asked as they made their way out to the Impala. "I have a feeling that Dean is gonna want to drive."

"Not a problem," Harry agreed, dumping his bag into the back seat before climbing in after it.

Sam and Dean entered the front, and although Dean put up a bit of a fuss over Sam's addition of an iPod to his "baby," going to far as to pull it out and toss it backwards into Harry's forehead, they quickly pulled the car out of the motel lot and onto the road.

As usual, Harry drifted off while on the road, though the drive wasn't a particularly long one. He'd found over the past few months that he really didn't like being in the car, and had learned the hard way not to try and read while Sam was driving. Sleeping was the only logical way to pass the time, and Harry was beyond used to getting It whenever he could. He didn't wake until after they'd stopped, Sam reaching back and poking him awake. He was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when a gorgeous brunette greeted them at the door.

The woman, Pamela, hugged Bobby like an old friend, flirtatiously eyed up Sam and Dean, and gazed curiously over at Harry.

"Who's the kid?"

"Not a kid," Harry argued. "I'm eighteen."

"Barely a man," Pamela commented. "What's your name?"

"Harry."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Harry, huh?"

"Don't worry about him," Sam told her. "I trust him." He was beginning to sound like a broken record, repeating that phrase so much.

"Well, you'd better all come inside. No one seems to know what could have pulled Dean from hell, so I'm thinking the next step is a séance."

"A séance. We're going to summon the damn thing here?" Bobby asked skeptically.

"Not exactly," Pamela replied. "More like a sneak peek." She gave them all a smirk.

They followed her inside, Dean continuing to flirt, Sam watching, and Harry looking around in fascination. Not for the first time since he'd met Sam, he wished he'd decided to take Ancient Runes. It would have been a heck of a lot more useful than Divination had turned out to be.

He found a particularly interesting symbol painted directly onto one wall; Harry was almost sure he had seen it before. Lines of it were oddly reminiscent of snakes; perhaps it was something from the Chamber of Secrets? Harry leaned towards it to get a better look and his hair, still worn longer than he'd really like in order to hide his scar, fell into his eyes. He reached up to brush it back, unselfconscious about it around people who apparently knew little or nothing about wizards, and continued studying it further.

He froze a moment later when he felt a body stepping up behind him. He spun around to find Pamela's face mere inches from his own. She was practically purring. "Harry. Do you have a last name?"

Harry had to force himself not to feel intimidated. "It would seem you already know what it is."

"Harry Potter. You know, your name has come up more than once recently. It makes sense now," she said. "And the power I can feel radiating off of you."

"Have you ever met a wizard in person before?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "You care to tell me what exactly you're doing so far from home, and in the company of Sam Winchester?"

Harry was quite aware that he was being closely observed. He was quite certain that none of them, save possibly Sam, would believe the truth, but it was the only thing he could think to say."

"I don't know. I just _don't_ …" he broke off for a moment. "I don't expect you to believe me, but it's true. Back home, I was stuck. I didn't know how to proceed, what to do next. There was nothing I could do. But my instincts were telling me that I had to leave, and I've always had good instincts."

"And now your instincts are telling you to follow Sam around like a stalker?" Dean asked.

Harry flushed. "Does it count as stalking if he knows I'm there and interacts with me?" he asked. He wasn't expecting an answer. "But the answer is basically yes."

Dean turned to Sam. "This _kid_," he said, emphasizing the word, "has a screw loose. But whatever."

The tension was broken, Harry deciding not to share with Dean how many people would agree with his assessment of Harry's sanity. Pamela instructed them all to sit down around the table and join hands. She settled herself down with a hand covering the mark on Dean's shoulder rather than including herself in the circle. Harry had no idea what to expect, but he had a bad feeling about what they were doing.

"All right then," Pan said. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, turning her voice hard and commanding. "I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle."

As Pam continued to repeat the phrase, a sinking feeling settled into Harry's stomach. Somehow, he knew, without a doubt in his mind, that she shouldn't be doing what she was about to do. Yet when he tried to say so, to stop her, he found that he couldn't do it. Besides, why would she believe him? She didn't really seem to trust him.

"Castiel?" she said suddenly. The name only made Harry's stomach clench even more. "No, I'm sorry, Castiel. I don't scare easy."

"Castiel?" Dean asked.

"It's name," she said as an aside. "He's telling me to turn back." She went back to focusing on the séance. "I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face."

The flames of the candles in the middle of the table burned brighter. A television off to the side blared loudly with snow.

"Maybe you should stop," Bobby suggested. Harry couldn't have agreed more.

"No, I've almost got it," she hissed. "I conjure and command you, show me your face. Show me your face, now!"

All of a sudden, the candles flared, the flames turning bright white and larger than should have been possible. Harry was temporarily blinded, but he could clearly hear Pamela's gasp, and then her screams. A moment later, the flames died completely and everything went silent but for Pamela's whimpering screams. Harry blinked and then he saw it: where Pam's eyes had once been were bloody, charred holes.

"Oh, Merlin," Harry breathed.

Bobby and Dean rushed to Pam's side, lowering her to the floor. "I can't see! I can't see!" she was crying.

"Call 911!" Dean ordered.

Sam ran to do his bidding.

"My eyes!" Pamela moaned.

Harry could do nothing but stare. Could he have prevented this, if he had said something? He tried to convince himself it wouldn't have mattered - she hadn't listened to Bobby, so she definitely wouldn't have listened to him. But what really bothered him: what in the world could do something like burn her eyes out? He was a wizard. He was Harry Potter, he'd seen, or at least heard of, some of the most frightening things out there, and he hadn't a single idea.

* * *

It was late when he woke. His wand was in his hand as soon as his eyes had popped open, but he quickly realized that what had disturbed his sleep wasn't a danger. It was just Sam, standing right inside the doorway. He was studying Dean carefully, presumably to make sure his brother was still asleep. Satisfied, he turned toward the couch where Harry lay, frowning when Harry looked back at him, wide awake.

Glancing over to check that Dean was indeed asleep, Harry sighed quietly and climbed off the couch, slipping his feet into his shoes. Sam's frown grew more pronounced, but he motioned Harry to go outside before him after he'd opened the door as quietly as possible.

"Where are you going?" Harry whispered as soon as the door was shut.

"Just to get a burger," Sam replied.

Harry snorted. "Right."

"Go back inside, Harry," Sam ordered. "Go get some sleep."

"No," he replied. "You're going back to the diner, aren't you? You're going to find the demons there? They don't know anything, Sam. They know less than we do."

"They might," Sam hedged. "Listen, I couldn't … I may be able to get them to talk, but I couldn't do it in front of Dean."

"This has something to do with Ruby, doesn't it?" Harry asked.

"I told you not to ask about that," Sam replied. Harry could tell that he was beginning to get very annoyed.

"Why are you so adamant about hiding what you do when you go off with her?" Harry asked. "I could understand if you were shagging her, but …" Harry broke off when he noticed Sam's flinch. His mouth fell open before he could stop it. "Oh, my God. You _are_ shagging her. A _demon_, Sam?"

"It was _once_," Sam defended. "It had been an awful night, and I just … well, I needed something, and Ruby was there."

"And she's a _demon_," Harry pointed out. "Not that I'm judging. I just didn't think you'd go there."

"Shut up," Sam replied.

"Good comeback," Harry taunted.

Sam scowled. "Well, it's not like there's another soul stuck in there or anything. You saw the papers, too. And she's hot."

"She is," Harry agreed. "But then, who wouldn't pick a hot body if they could choose?"

"Well. Yeah." Sam considered this. Then, quite suddenly, his face fell. Harry was confused. "Hey. You can't tell Dean about any of this."

"Oh?" Harry said, interest piqued. "Big brother wouldn't approve?"

"Dean'd probably try to have me committed," Sam explained. "Besides, I … well, I kinda already told him Ruby was still dead, at least as far as I know. And that I'm not using my powers."

Harry smirked. "An awful lots of secrets from a brother you claim to be so close to."

"We _are_ close. I'd do anything for him," Sam insisted. "That's why I'm not telling him about this. He wouldn't understand, and he doesn't need to."

Harry wanted to argue; he wasn't sure why. He'd known Dean for less than a day. He couldn't exactly claim authority on how Dean would react to what Harry had just discovered. But all the same, Harry had a feeling that it would be better for everyone if Sam would just admit everything that had been happening.

"He doesn't need to know, Harry. You're not going to tell him."

Harry sighed. "They're not my secrets to tell. But I'm coming with you."

"No. You're not. You're going back inside and getting some sleep."

"If I go back in there, it's not going to be quietly. And I'm guessing that Dean is a light sleeper, like us."

"You just said you wouldn't tell him," Sam complained.

"And I won't tell him," Harry agreed. He wasn't above blackmail, though. "But I won't discourage his curiosity. Think he'll believe you when you say you were going to get a burger?"

Sam looked murderous, but Harry's ploy had worked. He followed Sam to the Impala, his untied shoelaces clicking softly off the pavement. He took the opportunity to secure them as Sam pulled out of the parking lot; the hunter seemed to deflate in relief as they put the hotel behind them. He didn't say anything right away, though, as if Dean could hear him within a mile radius.

Finally, when they pulled into the empty lot of the diner, he turned to Harry. "I agreed to bring you along," he began.

"Like you had a choice," Harry mumbled.

Sam heard him, but ignored it. "But once we get in there, you let _me_ take the lead."

Harry looked at him, skeptically. Although Sam had admitted to him what he was doing - searching for Lilith in order to exact revenge - the only demon Harry had come into contact with since the night he'd saved Sam's life was Ruby. He knew that whatever Sam and Ruby did when they went off without Harry had something to do with demons. What else would Ruby be able to help him with when Harry couldn't? Well, besides, his more … carnal hungers - and Harry wasn't at all sure whether he should believe Sam's claim that he'd only slept with Ruby once.

But whatever else his friend was doing with the supposedly "good" demon, Harry had no idea. It was possible there were other demons involved; after all, it wasn't as though Sam had any other source of information on Lilith. But even with the power the knife gave him, Harry thought that was being a bit reckless. Not that he was one to talk. He could only hope that Sam's powers were enough to protect him. Or, at the very least, that he had Harry's sort of luck: in which everything would go wrong until it seemed he wouldn't make it out alive, at which point it would kick in with the most unrealistic and spectacular results.

"I'm serious, Harry," Sam insisted. "I can handle myself in there. I know what I'm doing, and I don't need you putting us both into danger because you don't understand."

Harry did his best not to take offense to that last comment. He suspected that there was at least some truth to what Sam was saying; he knew from experience that it was hard enough having to worry about someone's safety besides your own, let alone when you didn't know what that other person might try to do. But he also wasn't just anyone. Sam might've died if he hadn't thought to try a Patronus charm against the demons. In any case, he wasn't exactly helpless either.

Sam was waiting for him to agree before exiting the car, and Harry did so, albeit reluctantly. "Fine. But you'd better actually take the lead. I'm not going to let myself be disemboweled waiting around for you."

"I won't let you get disemboweled. I promise," Sam vowed. He took a deep breath and let it out. "All right, let's -"

He was cut off by a ringing. It turned out to be Dean, and Sam decided that he had to answer. Harry stayed quiet throughout the short conversation. When Sam flipped the phone closed, he looked perplexed.

Harry frowned. "So he actually bought that? About us getting a burger?" he asked.

"What? Oh, yeah, I think so. I mean, yes, but he sounded kind of … weird." Sam looked over at Harry. "I think _he_ was hiding something from _me_."

"Now's _really_ not the time to get pissed about something like that," Harry pointed out. "All things considered."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Anyways, he said he and Bobby were gonna go have a drink."

"So stop worrying," Harry ordered. "Well, about Dean, anyway. You can worry about what's in there." He pointed to the diner.

Sam didn't respond; instead, his countenance turned resolute and he climbed out of the Impala. Harry followed suit, walking quietly next to Sam as they approached and then entered the restaurant.

At first, it wasn't obvious what had happened. Everything seemed mostly as it should be, if the humans running it weren't all possessed by demons. In the darkness of the room, it took a moment for them to notice the body lying on the floor, sticking out from behind the counter. He and Sam stepped closer to examine it, noting then that the man's eyes had been burnt out just as Pamela's had been.

"What the hell is going on here?" Sam asked.

Harry didn't have a chance to answer before a pair of hands grabbed him from behind and threw him halfway across the room. It took him a moment to gather his bearings before he realized that Sam was sparring the demon, and another moment to stand up and cross to where the fighting was occurring. Harry wasn't particularly adept at physical combat, but he was able to get in a few moves and cause enough of a distraction for Sam to quickly subdue the demon.

It was then that they realized her eyes, too, were bloody and burnt.

"Your eyes," Sam said.

"I could still smell the souls from a mile away," she sneered.

"It was here," Sam continued. "You saw it."

"I saw it," she agreed.

"Well, what was it?" Sam prompted. Harry watched from the side, doing as Sam had instructed and letting him take the lead. The demon didn't appear to be very powerful, anyway.

Instead of answering right away, the demon let out a little sob. "It's the end. We're dead. We're all dead," she ranted.

"_What_ did you see?" Sam asked more insistently.

"Go to hell," the demon replied.

"Funny. I was going to say the same thing to you."

Harry could only watch what happened next. Sam raised his arm in the air towards the demon, cupping his hand as though he was gripping a large object. He closed his eyes in concentration. Harry wanted to ask what was going on, what he was doing, but he soon got his answer. The demon made a coughing, choking sound and a bit of black smoke emanated from the mouth of the female body it had taken over. Harry knew what that black smoke was: the true form of a demon.

It was apparent that Sam was concentrating even harder. His hand seemed to be gripping tighter. Whatever he was doing was working, because the choking grew harder, and it wasn't long before a whole mess of black smoke poured out of the body. It pooled around in the air, clearly being forced to leave and not doing so by choice. Another long moment, and it had disappeared entirely, leaving behind only a broken corpse.

Sam turned to Harry. It looked like he was going to say something when a familiar voice spoke from the shadows.

"Getting pretty slick there, Sam. Better all the time."

Sam turned towards the emerging figure. "Ruby."

"You decided to bring Harry with you tonight," she observed patiently. "So he's in on your secret now. Does this mean you've decided to tell Dean as well?"

Sam didn't answer the question. "What the hell is going on around here?" he asked.

She looked like she was going to say something more about Dean, but didn't. "I wish I knew," she replied.

Sam looked over at Harry for a moment, then back at Ruby. "Do you think it could be some kind of demon? Harry doesn't think so, but Dean thought maybe …"

"No way," Ruby denied. "Sam, Harry's right on this one. Human souls don't just walk out of hell and back into their bodies easy. The sky bleeds, the ground quakes. It's cosmic. No demon can swing that. Not Lilith, not anybody."

"Then what can?" Sam asked.

"Nothing I've ever seen before," Ruby replied.

Harry refrained from pointing out that he'd said so all along and instead watched their exchange with interest. There was definitely some kind of tension there; now that he knew they'd had sex, it seemed so obvious.

"Well, then," Sam continued, "we'd better go."

Ruby looked surprised by this. "Sam, are you sure …?"

"Yes," he said firmly, and Harry felt like he was missing something. "We're not going to learn anything more tonight. And certainly not here. I'll see you later, Ruby."

"Ok," she agreed, though she seemed uncertain. "Watch out for yourselves."

She stayed where she was in the middle of the diner while Sam and Harry left, heading back out to the Impala. They got in, but Sam made no move to try and start the engine.

"Well?" he asked.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well what?"

"Well, say whatever it is you have to say," Sam instructed. "Come on, I know what you just saw me do in there. You have to have _something_ you want to say."

Harry shrugged. "Honestly? I'm still kind of processing it. I mean, that's your gift? Being able to exorcise demons with … what, your mind?"

"Yes," Sam replied tightly.

"I'm not going to lie to you, it's a little bit creepy," Harry admitted. He sighed; he didn't like talking about himself, not even to Sam. But his friend had just revealed something about himself to Harry, something huge, and it was only fair that Harry should reciprocate. "Listen, Sam, yeah, it freaks me out a little bit. But I know what it's like to freak other people out by what I can do. I know what it's like to have other people judge you based on something you never asked for, something you never wanted."

"Oh yeah?" Sam asked skeptically.

"So, in my world … there are some wizards, very rare wizards, who have this special … power. They can communicate with snakes," Harry explained. "And nearly all of those who've had the ability have been dark wizards. I mean, really dark. When I was twelve, I discovered that I had the ability, and basically everyone thought I was evil. They thought that I had attempted murder, just because I could speak to snakes. They were judging my ability apart from what they actually knew of me, which was that I would never intentionally hurt someone else."

"Wait a second." Sam held up a hand. "You can talk to _snakes_?"

"What's it to you?" Harry replied. "To answer your question though, no, I can't. Not anymore."

"Not anymore? How do you lose an ability like that?"

"A story for another time," Harry replied, knowing that there was no way he could explain to Sam that he'd had a piece of Voldemort's soul inside him without revealing his entire life story. And, besides the fact that he wasn't ready to do that just yet, he didn't think that sitting in the Impala in the middle of the night was the best setting for something that would take so long to hash out.

"Another time that'll be sooner rather than later, right?" Sam requested. "But I get what you're trying to say. You understand, and so you're trying not to make any quick judgments."

"Exactly," Harry agreed.

Sam shut his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "Thank you, Harry," he said sincerely.

Harry simply nodded in response, fatigue starting to hit him again, and he was grateful when Sam finally pulled the keys out of his pocket and started the car. Leaning back against the seat, he let his mind wander on this newest revelation as Sam guided the Impala back to the hotel, finally understanding why it was that Sam didn't want to reveal this to his brother, but also thinking that he should still do it, anyway. If Dean couldn't try to understand, then perhaps he wasn't as good a brother as Sam kept insisting he was.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm so glad that people seem to be enjoing this story. Thanks to everyone who read, and especially to those who reviewed. It's very appreciated, even if it's just a few words telling me you enjoyed it. Anyway, here is chapter two. It took a little longer to get out than I wanted because it got too long and I did some restructuring. Also, you'll notice in this chapter and the next that I've liberated a good number of dialogue lines from SPN. I didn't want to include as much as I did, but the story felt too choppy trying to summarize it in prose, and I figured I would save time from trying to summarize so I can get into the actual plot more quickly. So, hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimers: Don't own any of it. Wish I did. Any lines that seem familiar are borrowed straight from the show, but only with the best intentions!

* * *

_Falling Through, Chapter Two_

"Well, then tell me what else it could have been," Sam argued.

Harry looked from him, to Dean, and back again. Dean had just finished recounting his meeting the previous night with the infamous Castiel, who was supposedly an angel. Dean wasn't buying it, Sam, apparently, was, and Harry didn't really know what to think. In his, admittedly limited, experience in the wizarding world, he hadn't come across anything on angels, but he'd also never come across anything on demons and, clearly, they were real, so why not? It wasn't like they had another explanation for what could have pulled Dean out of hell.

"Look, all I know is that I wasn't _groped_ by an angel," Dean replied.

"Ok, look Dean, why do you think this Castiel would lie to you about it?"

"Maybe it's some kind of demon. Demons lie," Dean guessed.

Harry frowned. "I thought we'd already agreed that it wasn't a demon," he piped up.

"Besides," Sam added, "a demon would have been affected by salt, or holy water, or at the very least, Ruby's knife. _Lilith_ is scared of that knife."

"Ok, so maybe not a demon. But an angel? Really?"

"Why not an angel?" Harry queried.

"Because we're talking _angels_ here. Why don't you just go find me a unicorn while you're at it?"

Harry was silent. Dean stared at him, quiet for a long moment before shaking his head in denial.

"No. Oh, come the fuck on. Unicorns are _not_ real."

"They're not indigenous to North America, but come to England and I could find you a whole herd," Harry said, thinking of the beautiful, majestic creatures that lived in the Forbidden Forest. Of course, this also made him think of the monster Voldemort had been before regaining his body (which, come to think of it, wasn't nearly the monster he was now that he _had_ a body and magic at his disposal), and how that monster had sucked a unicorn's blood to sustain its own cursed existence. He had to swallow back a lump in his throat. "Trust me, they're real."

Dean groaned. "Ok, fine. Bad example. Seriously, though, don't you think that if angels were real, some hunter, somewhere, would have seen one? Ever?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "You just did."

Dean scowled at him. "I meant _before_ me. Since we don't even know for sure that an angel is what I saw."

"Well, how do you know no one has?" Harry asked. "I mean, you didn't know that wizards like me existed until now, but Bobby did. Maybe you just haven't heard about it?"

"But Bobby's never heard anything about angels being real before. And clearly, he's heard of just about everything," Dean countered.

"You want to keep arguing about what _I_ know, or do you want to come take a look at this?" Bobby's voice interrupted from across the room. When they looked over at him, he shoved a book across the desk towards them. Sam and Dean walked over, Harry following behind them.

"I've got stacks of lore here, some Biblical, some pre-Biblical; some of it is in damn cuneiform," he complained. "But they all say that an angel has the ability to snatch a soul from the pit."

"What else?" Dean asked.

"What else what?"

"What else can do it?"

"Airlift your ass out of the hot box? As far as I can tell, nothing," Bobby concluded.

Dean sighed, Harry was becoming more than convinced, and Sam seemed delighted by the whole thing.

"Dean, maybe this is a good thing," he said.

"How so?"

"Well, I mean, it's not some demon conspiracy if it's angels. Maybe you were saved by the good guys, no strings attached."

"Which would be great, if it was actually an angel," Dean supplied.

"Dean, name _one other_ thing it would have possibly been," Sam challenged.

"I think it's true," Harry added. "For what it's worth. I mean, even within the magical world, with everything we're capable of, we don't know any way to bring the dead back to life. Except as Inferi, I suppose."

"Inferi?"

"Er … zombies," he supplied.

Dean wasn't sure whether to feel grossed out or impressed. "Ok, fine, assuming this may be true … why me? I mean, what have I done to deserve being pulled out of hell?"

"Dean -" Sam began.

"I mean, I've saved some people. I figure that makes up for the stealing and the ditching chicks and all that, but why would God care about saving me? I'm just a regular guy."

"A regular guy who's apparently important to the man upstairs," Sam said.

"Dude, that creeps me out," Dean complained. "And it still doesn't answer why. Why am I important to him?" His eyes narrowed and he turned to Harry. "What do _you_ think?"

"Me?" Harry asked, surprised to be singled out by Dean. Sam's older brother had been watching him closely since joining them, but he hadn't exactly been welcoming. "I don't know."

"Really? Cause Castiel seemed to think you might," Dean told him.

"What?" Harry was genuinely confused.

"Yeah," Dean said. "I got so distracted trying to figure out what he _actually_ is … but Castiel mentioned you, our "newest friend." Said I should ask _you_ about angels."

Harry shook his head. "I honestly don't know what he meant," Harry answered. He wondered if there was some gigantic clue that he was missing. "Or, if I do, then I don't _know_ that I know."

"You sure about that?" Dean pressed. "You've been awfully quiet over there, and you don't seem to be having trouble believing that Castiel is an angel."

"And I'm not having much trouble with it either, Dean," Sam interrupted. He shot Harry a sympathetic yet curious look. "He's telling you the truth."

"Fine." Dean stared hard at Harry, then looked away at Bobby. "Fine. What do we know about angels?"

Bobby smirked and pulled out a huge stack of old, thick books. They looked like the sorts of tomes Hermione had regularly checked out of the Hogwarts library when they were in school. She would have been glowing with excitement at the prospect of digging into them; Dean, on the other hand, wasn't so enthusiastic.

"Start reading," Bobby instructed.

Dean frowned, but he picked up the book on the top of the pile - unsurprisingly, the smallest one there. He looked at the cover and then over at Sam. "You," he said, pointing, "are getting me pie."

Sam shrugged in acquiescence. Harry knew it was nearly time for a food run, anyway, but he didn't feel like going out with Sam and instead picked up the next book on the pile. If there was one good thing about all of this arguing and angel stuff, it was that Dean hadn't thought to ask Sam or Harry exactly what _they_ had done the previous night. That thought in mind, he lost himself in the angel mythology.

* * *

Harry climbed out of the car, stretching his cramped limbs. He had never spent so much time in a car in his life. He knew it was necessary; it wasn't as though muggles, even muggle hunters, had the means of traveling that wizards had and, even if Dean wasn't scared to fly (which, apparently, Harry wasn't supposed to know, though Sam had told him, anyway), it was too expensive to travel by air that often. Nevertheless, he had taken a dislike to driving everywhere, and it was with reluctance that he had again crawled into the backseat of the Impala in order to go check on a fellow hunter who hadn't been returning Bobby's calls.

They had offered him the front seat in Bobby's truck, but Harry had turned that down. He didn't exactly think that Bobby would try to do anything, though he wasn't completely sure he wouldn't. But really, he didn't want to deal with the questions he knew Bobby would have, questions that Sam wouldn't be able to shield if he wasn't there. Bobby and Dean were both intensely curious about Harry's past, about why he was really there, following them around, and the only reason they hadn't forced some answers out of him was because of Sam. If they knew that Sam had little more information than they did on who Harry really was, he knew the reactions wouldn't be good.

He was just glad they had completed the trip, and hoped they wouldn't be climbing back into the car for another long ride _too_ soon. Loosened up, his muscles already felt better, and he took the opportunity to look up at the house. From the outside, nothing seemed out of place. Perhaps this Olivia was simply on her own job? He pulled out his wand, anyway, just to be safe, as they made their way inside.

It soon became obvious that he didn't need it. Whatever had happened here had already occurred. Bobby took one look at Olivia's bloody corpse and turned around, going back out the front door. Dean, Sam, and Harry stayed, looking around for clues to what had happened. Sam observed the salt line, while Dean noted the EMF meter that had fallen to the floor.

"Spirit activity," Sam observed.

"Yeah, on steroids," Dean said. "I've never seen a ghost do this to a person."

Bobby reappeared in the doorway. He looked shaken and worried.

"Bobby, you all right?" Dean asked.

"I called a few hunters in the area," he said.

"Good, we could use the help," Dean agreed.

"Yeah, except they ain't answering their phones either," Bobby said gravely.

"Something's up." They were all worried now.

"You think?" Bobby asked. "We need to go check on them. You guy's head out to Jed's; you know where he lives?" Dean nodded. "I've got a couple others to visit."

They headed out quickly. Harry felt bad, leaving Olivia's body behind like that, bloody and eviscerated. But they couldn't figure out whatever had done this to her if they ended up dead as well, so he reluctantly climbed into the back of the Impala, and tried to ignore how the bumps on the road made his stomach churn even more than usual. He was glad he hadn't eaten anything recently because that, combined with the car ride and the pictures of the corpse stuck in his head would have been too much.

Luckily, the drive to Jed's wasn't a long one. Unluckily, Jed's body looked worse than Olivia's had. They left as soon as they realized there was nothing they could do, and Dean pulled out his cell phone to call Bobby. The conversation didn't last long.

"Both the guys Bobby went to check on are dead, too," he announced. "Bobby wants us all to get back to his place as soon as we can."

Harry had to stifle a groan. He had done so much sleeping in the car that he knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep. Instead, he stretched out in the back seat as best he could and tried to think about what was happening around them. It was doubtful that he could come up with anything that Sam or Dean wouldn't, considering that his only experience with ghosts were those of the Hogwarts houses. And while they weren't _exactly_ friendly, they certainly were homicidal either. Thinking about the Hogwarts ghosts made him think of Peeves, and he wondered if it could have been the doing of a Poltergeist instead of a ghost, but he wasn't even sure exactly what the difference between the two was. If it was something he should have learned during Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and he wasn't sure whether that was the case or not, it wasn't surprising that he didn't know.

Either way, he quickly grew stiff and irritable again, and he was relieved when Dean pulled off the highway to fill up the gas tank. Sam went into the station to use the bathroom and Harry got out to stretch his legs, walking to the edge of the lot and breathing in as much of the cool, fresh air as he could. By the time he made it back to the car, Dean had finished at the pump, but Sam still wasn't back. Harry leaned against the edge of the car, and didn't say anything.

"He's taking an awfully long time in there," Dean said.

"He can't even go to the bathroom without you worrying?" Harry asked, trying not to think about what Sam was doing in there.

"I worry for a reason," Dean defended. "Or did you not see what I just saw? It's obvious this thing … or things … are targeting hunters, and Sam's a hunter."

He paused for a moment, then seemed to make a decision and moved around to the trunk. Harry glanced around nervously when he opened up the weapons compartment, but it seemed that no one was around to see the impressive weapons collection as Dean pulled out a gun and filled it with rock salt.

"You coming?" he asked gruffly.

Harry nodded and once again pulled out his wand, though he held it discreetly enough that no one would be able to spot it unless he wanted them to. He and Dean made their way to the dank bathroom as casually as they could, considering the circumstances. Harry was more afraid of finding Sam in the middle of taking a giant crap or something than anything else, but on the off chance that Dean was right, he wasn't about the stay behind.

He supposed it wasn't a bad thing either. He probably wouldn't have believed that Sam was getting pounded by a ghost if he hadn't seen it himself. Before Harry could react, Dean had taken aim and shot a bullet of rock salt into the very solid-looking ghost, who disappeared at once. Out of immediate danger, they all waited a moment before Harry moved to Sam and helped him up from the rather disgusting bathroom floor.

"Uh, thanks," he said.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "Don't mention it." He sent Harry a look that said: _I told you so_.

They quickly made their way back to the car and pulled onto the highway. Even Harry didn't feel like complaining; he just wanted to go back to Bobby's and figure out what was happening here.

"You all right?" Dean asked Sam once they were safely on the road. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"None," Sam replied, irked. "I'll be fine, Dean."

"So, Henricksen, huh?" Dean asked. "What did he want?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe revenge, for getting him killed," Sam said.

"Sammy."

"Well, we did," Sam insisted.

"I don't know what's going on with you," Dean said, giving Sam a hard look. "But whatever's happening is happening to _us_, right now, and Bobby's not answering his phone. So unless you're thinking answers, don't bother to think at all."

They went back to silence, until Harry realized that perhaps if he knew more about what was going on, he might have a better chance of figuring out a solution.

"Ok, so I'm not familiar with this story," he pointed out. "Who exactly was he?

"An FBI agent," Dean said. "Who wanted nothing more than to see us behind bars."

"Um … what?" Harry asked.

"Harry, sometimes the things we have to do … well, sometimes we have to do illegal things - identity theft, grave desecration - and sometimes it _looks_ like we do illegal things. We've especially had problems with shape shifters. Dean was wanted for murder; we were both wanted for bank robbery. Let's just say that it didn't look good, and Henricksen was the one on the case. He finally case up to us … in a town that was filled with demons."

"So I'm guessing things didn't turn out well," Harry said.

"Well, at that point, at least he believed us, and realized that the only crimes we actually committed were … well, necessary. We made it out. Barely. But Lilith showed up after we left and … well, anyone who _had_ managed to survive didn't after that."

"I see," Harry said.

He started thinking about what the significance of that was. Clearly, this Henricksen blamed Sam and Dean for his death; could that be significant here? What didn't make sense to Harry, though, was that the ghost had shown up in some random, skeevy gas station bathroom. From his experience, as well as what Sam had told him and what he'd read, ghosts were normally tied to a specific place. It didn't make any sense.

As hard as Harry was trying, he wasn't getting anywhere with the problem at hand, and it was getting hard to keep his thoughts focused. They kept wandering over to the problems he had left behind in England. So he'd seen a couple bloody, mangled bodies today, and it was horrible, but there were mostly certainly plenty more where that came from in Britain, with Voldemort having gained so much power. Harry was over here in the States, helping people he didn't even know, when people back home were suffering.

He knew that it wasn't so clearly black and white. He was here for a reason. Perhaps he hadn't yet managed to make a connection between Voldemort and his unexplainable immortality, and all of the things he'd experienced and learned since joining Sam, but he knew there had to be something. It was just a matter of time. He knew he needed to be here, but he didn't know why.

At least, he _hoped_ that he needed to be here, because otherwise he was screwing up everything even more. He could only depend on Ron and Hermione holding their own without him there. It didn't stop him from thinking back to one of the last evenings he had spent with them before leaving.

* * *

_Harry hurried along the dimly lit street, keeping his cloak pulled tightly around him, hood obscuring his face. The wind was beginning to pick up, and it looked like it might begin raining at any second. Behind him, he could hear two additional sets of footsteps, one a light patter, the other a pounding gait. He winced at the amount of noise Ron was making - subtlety had never been his strong suit - but refrained from turning around. He wanted to get out of the open as soon as possible._

"…_don't understand why we're bothering to come back _here_," Ron grumbled. "I thought Harry never wanted to see them again."_

"_Shush, Ron," Hermione scolded. "Harry has his reasons for coming. We may not understand them, but I trust him enough to know that it's necessary. And there's no way I'm letting him go alone."_

"_But they're _muggles_, Hermione. Not that I have anything against muggles, obviously," he was hasty to add._

"_You're on thin ice, Ronald," Hermione informed her boyfriend._

_Harry'd had enough. If there was anyone about, anyone watching them or following them, they'd probably be dead by now, or captured or something. He stopped abruptly and spun on his heel, lifting his head just enough so that his startled friends could see the admonishing glare on his face._

"_Would both of you shut up!" he hissed as quietly as he could. "I said that I needed to come back here, not that it was safe to do so. I'm hinging on the fact that You-Know-Who knows how much I hated being here to assume that he won't be looking for me here."_

_Ron looked sheepish, and Hermione whispered out a quick "sorry, Harry." Harry paused for a long moment to hammer in his point, then turned back around and continued moving along._

_It was only another couple minutes before he reached his destination. Number four was lit up brightly, shining from the kitchen, the sitting room, and Dudley's bedroom. Harry stopped before the walkway to the front door and pulled out his wand. The wards that Mad-Eye had placed around the house to protect the muggles once the blood wards failed were there, but weakened. A strong enough Death Eater could probably break them. Voldemort certainly could._

_After a few swishes of his hand, Harry determined that they wouldn't stop himself or his friends, as none of them meant the Dursleys any harm. At least he hoped that was true. Grateful for Hermione's crash course in warding since they had reinforced and moved back into Grimmauld Place, Harry put his wand away and strode up the path to the house, gesturing for his friends to follow. He paused for a moment to take a deep breath before ringing the bell, then pushed the little button._

_He could hear the shuffling from within, Uncle Vernon requesting that Petunia answer the door. A minute later, the door was wrenched open by a nervous-looking Petunia. Apparently they were not used to getting visitors so late in the evening. Harry threw back his hood quickly so that she could see it was him._

"_You!" she hissed. "What do you think you're doing here?"_

"_Can I come in for a moment, Aunt Petunia?"_

_The woman frowned at his request, as though he were asking her to cut off a hand for him instead of give him shelter for a few measly minutes. She glanced back at Vernon, who was loudly asking who it was, but didn't say anything as she stepped back and allowed him entrance._

_As soon as he entered the foyer, he came into Vernon's direct line of vision. His uncle's face contorted in anger. "_You_, boy? What are you doing back here? I thought it was good riddance when all of those freaks came for you last summer."_

_Harry forced a smile onto his face. "It's good to see you, too, Uncle Vernon," he replied before turned back to face Petunia._

_Ron and Hermione had crossed the threshold by now and his aunt was shutting the door and securing it. They had more locks now than Harry remembered, and he didn't have the heart to tell her that an extra deadbolt wasn't going to make a difference. The only thing which would protect her if a wizard decided to attack were the wards some "freak" had placed there for her protection._

_Petunia didn't seem amused by Harry's reaction to Vernon. "Well, why did you come back?" she asked. "You must have come for a reason. Did you have to bring your … friends with you?"_

"_Yes," Harry replied, not elaborating. "And yes, I did come for a reason. I wanted to talk to you, Aunt Petunia."_

"_You wanted to talk to me?" she repeated as though she couldn't fathom what he was saying._

"_Yes," Harry confirmed. "I was hoping you might be able to help me out."_

"_How on earth would I be able to help you out?" she asked. "And furthermore, why would I care to?"_

"_Well," Harry reasoned. "You certainly don't _have_ to, but I'm really just hoping you'll tell me a bit more about what you remember from the past. I'm not sure why I think it'll help, but I just have a feeling that you know something, probably something you don't even realize is significant."_

"_What makes you think I would know _anything_?" Petunia asked. "In case it had escaped your notice, I've rather gone out of my way to avoid all that freakish nonsense."_

"_But you _do_ know things, Aunt Petunia," Harry insisted. "You once referred to an awful boy. I thought at the time that you were speaking of my father, but you weren't, were you? You were talking about Professor Snape."_

_Petunia frowned, but she didn't deny it. "He realized what Lily was before she was ever accepted at that school. He took her away from me."_

"_Please, Aunt Petunia. I can't say for sure whether knowing that would have been enough for me to figure things out, but it couldn't have hurt. There have to be other things. Don't you see? I know next to nothing about my parents' childhoods, and that seems to be where all the answers lie. I know you weren't involved, that maybe you don't remember much, but I don't have anywhere else to turn."_

_His aunt was quiet for a moment, considering whether she should help her nephew or not. Vernon appeared in the doorway from the sitting room where the television continued to blare and send bright flashes of color that lit the dim foyer like a strobe light. The rotund man glared at Harry before sending his wife a stern look, clearly waiting for her to usher Harry and his friends out of the house so they could settle in for the night. She looked back at her husband emotionlessly._

_Finally, she exhaled a suffering sigh and spoke to Harry. "Well, come back to the kitchen then."_

_Harry wasn't sure if his speech had actually affected his aunt or if she had invited him to stay simply to defy her overbearing husband. Vernon was disbelieving; he stared, slack jawed, at his wife, before huffing and shuffling back into the living room where he settled back into the butt-shaped indentation in his favorite chair. Petunia didn't seem affected, instead leading the three young adults back into the kitchen._

_Harry was surprised by how odd it was, being back there. It was true that he had never been a part of the Dursley family, even less than what most nephews would be growing up with an aunt, uncle, and cousin, but Number four had nonetheless been home to him. The only home he'd known until he turned eleven. Now he was a guest, a reluctant intruder, and it felt odd._

_No one spoke right away upon reaching the kitchen. Petunia motioned for them to sit down around the table, and even asked if anyone wanted a drink. But no one really wanted anything, and it was clear that the offer was half-hearted at best._

"_So … what exactly is it that you want to know?" Petunia asked Harry. She rather wanted to get straight to the point and get him out of her home._

"_Erm, well … that's the problem, see. I'm not really sure _what_ I want know," he answered. "I don't know which questions to ask. If I did, it's likely I'd already have the answers, anyway. Just … what do you remember about my mum's youth? What do you know about Snape? Did you ever meet any of my mother's friends from school? Did she ever speak to you about school?"_

_Petunia let out a little snort of air. "Hmph. Your mother tried to talk to me about her school when she first began. Even wrote me letters, not that I ever read them. I think she believed that if she could make me understand, then I wouldn't hate it anymore. But I always did; this magic of yours, it isn't natural. Like that Snape boy. I knew there was something off about him even before I knew that magic was real. I made it clear how I felt, and she learned her lesson."_

_Harry frowned at her words, disliking the way she spoke about his mother. Had his aunt really always been so heartless that it didn't bother her, turning away her younger sister like that? Or was she simply so afraid of magic, of anything different, that she didn't even realize how much she had hurt others with her actions?_

"_Well, what about Snape?" Harry asked. "Can you tell me more about him? Anything you can remember."_

"_Oh, he was an awful, awful boy," Petunia replied with ill-concealed disdain. "He was an odd, greasy little thing, never looked like he was washed properly. He never liked me. When Lily wasn't watching he would give me the most horrid looks, like he knew something I didn't. Like all I had to do was make one wrong move, and he'd … well. There was something terribly dark about him. Lily, she didn't seem to see it, though …"_

_Harry listened intently as Petunia recalled stories from her childhood. She spoke of a young Severus Snape and how he had stolen her away from Petunia. Lily had always looked up to Petunia when she was very young, had always wanted to be just like her big sister. But then Severus had come along - the two had met in school - and suddenly Lily wasn't interesting in having tea parties or pretending to be a little girl for Petunia's play-mother to boss about. Suddenly, she was only interested in being with Severus. The two would run off together after school, going to the park and hiding about in the trees or some such nonsense. Whenever Petunia tried to join them they would shrug her off. They would whisper, heads bent together, breaking off whenever anyone else would come near._

_It wasn't easy for Harry to hear these things. He understood that Snape wasn't the man Harry had thought he was, that there were many sides other than nasty Potions professor and evil Death Eater spy. But that didn't make it any easier to fathom those other sides. To imagine Severus Snape as a boy of nine, joyfully romping about town with an equally innocent and naïve Lily was nearly too much. When Petunia's recollections grew darker, about the boy he became as Lily's time at Hogwarts grew closer and then arrived, Harry felt more in his element._

_Apparently, Severus really hadn't been a fan of Petunia. It wasn't that he hated her for being a muggle, though he truly did have a certain disdain for the magically disinclined, his own nasty father included. It was that he saw something in her that was supremely ugly and unkind. Lily may have loved her sister, may have, prior to befriending Severus, even somehow enjoyed being ordered around by her, but Severus had never found it amusing. Lily would tell him stories, thinking them fond memories, but it only made his dislike of Petunia grow. He had warned the older girl more than once to leave Lily alone, to leave her for Severus. That he seemed to grow even kinder to Lily as he grew more antagonistic to anyone outside their exclusive duo only made the whole thing seem sinister. It wasn't that he didn't know how to be nice; he simply chose not to be._

_After speaking about Snape and his friendship with Lily at some length, Petunia moved on to other topics. She knew very little about her sister's schooling, even less than Harry had expected. She had not only refused to go out of her way to learn anything about it, but it seemed she had actively tried to avoid hearing anything Lily might have said. Harry was curious how she had known about Dementors when she recalled so little else, and his question was answered with yet another anecdote about Severus._

_He and Lily had been working on a summer assignment one year. Lily's paper was on thestrals (it had taken a fair amount of prompting Petunia for details to figure that out, and even then Harry wasn't entirely sure this was correct), but Severus had been writing about creatures called dementors. He had talked to Lily about them, explained what they were, and for some reason, Petunia hadn't been able to stop from listening in. Severus had described as the most vile creatures to walk the earth, feeding on and destroying souls. No one knew where they had come from. Even wizards had no legends of their origin, the way they did about creatures like vampires and werewolves, but it was generally believed that they could only belong to the Devil himself._

_She wasn't sure why, but the story stuck with Petunia. She wouldn't have admitted it, if questioned, but she still remembered the creatures in great detail when she received the letter. She read it simply because it didn't make any sense that Severus Snape would have written to her. He and Lily had decided to learn the one spell that could repel a dementor - the charm wouldn't kill it; no one knew how to do that. It had taken a long time, and they'd had to recruit the help of a professor, but that had now mastered it. Severus was writing to Petunia, he explained, because the Patronus charm took the shape of the caster's protector, and Lily's was a horse, to represent her sister._

_Petunia had nearly stopped reading right there, she was so offended by the suggestion that she in any way resembled a horse (Harry thought she was probably so indignant because she knew how true the statement was). But she hadn't been able to ignore the rest of what Severus had written. He told her that he hadn't understood, and so Lily had explained it to him. Petunia was like a horse which had been tamed: constrained and obedient, but with the obvious potential for great beauty. If she were free, if she would let herself be free, she would be so resilient and majestic. He said it was a shame that Lily had such love for a sister who hated what she was and thus hated her. He said that a person like her deserved to meet a dementor with no way of defending oneself against it._

_Harry was sure how to react as Petunia said these things to him. If he was surprised, it was only because of the fact that his aunt was revealing these things to him at all. She said to him that, although Severus probably meant to help repair her relationship with Lily, if only because that was what Lily would have wanted, it did the opposite. The day she read that letter was the day she understood that she and her sister would never be close again. It was the day she lost her religion._

_If the mood in the kitchen had been somber before Petunia recounted this story, it was downright depressing after. Harry asked only a few more questions, and listened half-heartedly as Petunia told Harry anything else she thought might be significant. It was very little beyond the first time she had met Harry's father. He had come to visit before their seventh year in school, and while he'd been very gracious to her and Lily's parents - Petunia was fairly certain he had even requested permission to ask for Lily's hand whenever it might happen - he had been cold and distant to Petunia._

_Their parents had died while Lily was away at school that year; it had been a car crash - an actual car crash - while they were on their way to Cornwall to spend their wedding anniversary at a bed and breakfast. The second and last time Petunia met James Potter was at their funeral. After that, her contact with Lily was sporadic at best. She was invited to the wedding, but opted not to go. She had gotten a letter when Harry was born, and another awhile later, perhaps six months, to explain that they were going into hiding and wouldn't receive any missives. The next time she heard anything from her sister was when she'd found baby Harry and a letter from Dumbledore sitting on her doorstep._

"_And that's all," Petunia finished. "That's everything I know, everything that I can remember. And did any of it help you?"_

_Seeing the look on her face, Harry knew what he had to say. "I think you might have, Aunt Petunia. I'm not sure yet. I'll have to think about what you've said. I really appreciate you taking the time to do this. I know it couldn't have been easy."_

_Petunia pursed her lips. "Don't presume to think you know me now." She sighed, and softened a little bit. "I think we both know that you've never fit in with this family, but that doesn't mean I want to see you dead like your parents. So I do hope that something useful has come from what I've said. I hope you succeed, for all of our sakes."_

_They said good-bye after that, and then Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked out into the steady rain which had begun falling while they were inside. They cast impermeable charms on themselves, but there was only so much a spell could do when they were sloshing around outside and so they hurried out to the park where they could be sure their Apparition wouldn't be noticed._

_They didn't speak about what they'd heard from Petunia until they were safe back in Grimmauld Place, changed into dry, warm clothes and lounging around in the bedroom Harry and Ron shared, Hermione curled up with the redhead._

"_So I'm curious Harry," Hermione began. "Which part of that did you think could help us in any way?"_

"_Honestly? No idea. Meaning, I told her that because I didn't want to admit that I had just wasted over two hours of her time," Harry replied. "I have to say that it was nice hearing more about my mother, even if it was from her jealous sister's point of view. But none of that gives me any clue to how to go about defeating Voldemort."_

"_She spoke an awful lot about Snape," Ron pointed out._

"_Snape's really the only magical person she had any contact with, besides my mum," Harry reasoned. "And I don't think she could really bring herself to hate her sister, no matter how she might have tried."_

"_I hate to say it, but I think Harry's right," Hermione agreed._

"_What about the dementors?" Ron asked._

"_Nothing we didn't already know about them," Hermione said. "Except that Harry's mum's was a horse, at least when she was young. No, it wasn't a bad idea, Harry, but I think we're past the point where your oblivious muggle aunt can't help us with what little she picked up over the years. This is something we need to figure out by ourselves."_

"_That's what we've been trying to do, Mione," Harry sighed. "And look where it's gotten us. My best idea was to go talk to my 'oblivious muggle aunt'. And you, Hermione Granger, most brilliant witch alive, is _out_ of ideas. Even if it weren't a very real possibility, all things considered, I would think the world was coming to an end."_

"_Hey!" Hermione replied indignantly. "Don't put words in my mouth, Harry Potter."_

"_Ok, then, what do you suggest we do next? Where do we even begin to look, especially since we can't get to the Ministry or the Hogwarts library or anywhere we might discover anything."_

_Hermione was silent for an uncomfortable period of time until the three best friends began laughing. It was a nervous, hopeless laughter, because they all knew that things were looking more desolate than ever._

"_This isn't funny!" Hermione scolded them between deep breaths._

"_Really, isn't it?" Ron asked sarcastically. "We found _every one_ of Voldemort's horcruxes, and destroyed them, which alone should have been an impossible task. Then Harry _died_ and was brought back to life. And then we actually faced an army of Death Eaters. Harry went up against the snakey bastard himself, and didn't die - again - and actually managed to land an Avada Kedavra, which _didn't work_. And now we have _no bleeding idea_ what to do next, or even how to figure out what to do next._

"_So tell me, Mione: exactly what am I supposed to do if I'm not allowed to laugh? Cry hysterically? Bash my head against a stone wall until I'm a bloody mess? Because, at this point, those are the other options I'm considering."_

_Hermione looked at Harry with wide eyes, imploring him to help. He shrugged back, helplessly, but had to say something. "Er … Ron, it's all right. Really. We're going to figure something out. We have to."_

"_You can say that all you want, Harry, but you have no idea how to do it."_

"_So I'll _think_ of a way to do it," Harry insisted._

"_But … what _do_ we do next?" Hermione asked. "I mean, right now we need sleep, but tomorrow, once we're up? Where do we start?"_

"_I don't know," Harry admitted. "But I _will_ figure it out. I have to. I don't have any other choice."_

* * *

_Chapter End_

So, I'm not very good at reviewing what I read, which means I won't hold it against you if you don't, but do know that even a short one is greatly appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hey there everyone! Sorry this is a bit later than I wanted, but my parents network was acting up so I have been nearly internet deprived for the week around Thanksgiving. Anyways, here is chapter three. I hope people like it. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and especially those who are reviewing. I'm not expecting perfection on my fanfiction (I don't write it for that purpose) but I'm always trying to improve my writing in general.

Standard disclaimers apply. There are a number of direct quotes from the show, particularly in this chapter. They are not being used for profit, but because my story needs them, and some of dialogue is too good to pass up.

* * *

_Falling Through, Chapter Three_

The ride back to Bobby's seemed to take much longer than it had to get to Olivia's in the first place, and by the time Sam, Dean, and Harry had arrived, the sun had risen and they were all in surly moods. Bobby still wasn't answering his phone and hadn't returned any of their calls; Harry was worried about what the might find, but he didn't think he could possibly be as worried as Sam and Dean, who seemed very close to the older hunter. They all kept their guards up as they exited the car and cautiously entered the house.

It was still and quiet inside, and nothing too obvious seemed out of place. Certainly there was no mangled corpse or blood spattered walls to be found anywhere on the first floor. After searching around the library, kitchen and sitting room, it was decided that they should split up. Dean would take the upstairs, and Harry and Sam would split the salvage lot, since it was so large.

Sam and Harry made their way back outside, parting ways only once they found themselves in the midst of rows of old junker cars. It was, to be truthful, a little bit creepy. The tall rows made Harry think of the maze during fourth year, and how he hadn't known what he might come upon as he wandered through it. It wasn't long before he couldn't hear Sam at all.

To be truthful, he couldn't hear much of anything. He hoped that wasn't a bad sign, though he couldn't help but think that it was. If Bobby was fending off a ghost, they should have heard his struggle. The fact that he couldn't hear anything suggested that Bobby … well, Harry wouldn't even let himself think it, for Sam's sake if nothing else.

He had been wandering for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, getting further and further from the house, when he heard the crunch of metal on metal and then breaking glass in the distance. He paused, waiting to hear more so he could determine which direction it was coming from. It was quiet again for a minute, and he was about to give up when it sounded again, coming from behind Harry, and a little to the right.

He spun around, ready to go help however he could, before stopping dead in his tracks. His mind was telling him to pull out his wand, to run, to do _something_, but he was completely frozen in place. He felt like he was fourteen again.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry had to tell himself to breath. "C-Cedric?"

"Surprised to see me?" he asked.

It was Cedric exactly as Harry remembered him - the same hair, the same eyes, the same crooked smile, the same yellow uniform he'd worn during the final task, the same seventeen year old body, now and forever younger than Harry - and yet not the same. There was an edge to this ghost-Cedric, an attitude he hadn't had in life. It was a darkness that frightened Harry, and he knew that whatever was going on, whatever had brought Cedric back, it wasn't something with good intentions.

"What, did you think you could forget all about me?" he asked when Harry didn't respond. "Did you think that you could just get rescued from the cemetery and go on with life like I never even existed, like you never did anything wrong? I'm _dead_ because of you, Harry."

"No. No, Cedric, I -"

He was cut off when Cedric raised his wand. Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing, but the red light that came from the Hufflepuff's wand was very, very real. It hit Harry squarely in the chest and sent him flying backwards into the rusted out shell of an old Chevy; his wand flew in some other direction. His head banged against the metal and he saw stars for a moment, a small cry of pain escaping from his lips.

"What, you didn't like that, Harry? Well, I didn't like _dying_. I was only seventeen, Harry. I was a month away from finishing school and starting my real life. I had _so much _promise. I was the Hogwarts champion. The real Hogwarts champion. And from the very beginning I was out shadowed by _you_. A child. Do you know how much it hurt, that no one could see me because of the Boy Who Lived?"

"I didn't want it, Cedric," Harry protested. "I didn't -"

"Lies," Cedric interrupted. "I don't want to hear your lies, Harry. I want to make you feel how _I_ felt. _Crucio_!"

He was too quick, and the Unforgivable was too unexpected, for Harry to dodge out of the way. White hot pain engulfed his body. He was vaguely aware of the anger Cedric must have felt to cast that curse on Harry, and vaguely aware of the tortured screams tearing from his throat, but mostly he was aware of time. Every second felt like minutes. How long was Cedric going to keep this up? Until Harry went completely insane?

Then, in a split second, the curse was lifted. Cedric was laughing. The sound was cruel and cold; it reminded Harry uncomfortably of Voldemort.

"Oh, did that hurt, Harry?" he asked with amusement. "You don't _understand_ pain. Pain is when you're betrayed by someone you thought you could trust."

"Cedric, I didn't betray you," Harry protested. He was trying to sit up, to get to his wand lying twenty feet away, but he could hardly move. "I thought we'd both win, I didn't know -"

"Stop _lying_, Harry," Cedric growled at him. "You knew. You knew from the moment your name was pulled from the Goblet that it was a trap. You knew that someone was trying to get to you, and you knew they were using the tournament to do it. But you still told me to take the Goblet with you, acting all innocent. Like you didn't know I would be there to die in your place!"

"I didn't, Cedric, I swear it!" Harry denied.

"What, do you think just because I was a Hufflepuff, I'm completely naïve?" he asked, angrily.

Before Harry knew it, long before he came within reach of his wand, Cedric had cast the Cruciatus curse again. It was worse this time, if that was possible. Harry could do nothing to stop it, nothing to make it less painful or less frightening. He had barely enough sense of mind left to wish that Cedric would just kill him if that's what he was going to do. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on, when all of a sudden, it stopped. There was no laughter or taunting this time.

Instead, through glazed eyes, he could see Sam standing just next to where Cedric had been a moment before, holding an iron crow bar. That vision was cut off a moment later by Dean's face, looming just over his.

"Holy shit, Harry. What the hell was that?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

Harry was surprised to hear the worry in his voice. "'M fine," he lied, trying to sound stronger than he felt.

"Yeah, you're fine," Dean snorted. "You're shaking."

"Was that some kind of spell?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Harry grunted as Dean lifted him into a sitting position. "Cruciatus. Don't know how a ghost managed to cast a spell."

"Cruciatus?" a gruff voice asked. Harry hadn't noticed Bobby before, but now the older man had stepped up next to Sam. "Ain't that some kind of torture curse?"

Harry was surprised. He let Dean help him to his feet as he answered. "Yes," he confirmed. "That's exactly what it is. The strongest one that exists."

Sam and Dean both looked at him with concern. "You know, maybe you should just take a minute …" Dean said.

"I'll be fine," Harry insisted. "Not like I've never felt it before."

No one said anything for a moment. Then Bobby spoke. "Come on, we'd better get inside. We need to figure out what this is, and fast, or we're all dead."

Despite Harry's protests that he was fine, Dean kept hold of the arm Harry had around his shoulders and tightened the arm he had wrapped about Harry's waist. Harry wouldn't have admitted it, but he was grateful for the help. He wasn't sure he could have made it to the house on his own. If Sam was surprised to see his brother so willing to help the wizard, he didn't say so. He even fetched Harry's wand for him as they quickly made their way inside to Bobby's rather impressive library.

Dean settled Harry down in a chair and began pacing as Bobby pulled books off the shelf. "Ok, so I was thinking, did Meg have a tattoo when she was alive?" Dean asked.

Harry didn't know who Meg was, but Bobby and Sam did. "I don't remember for sure, but I don't think so," Sam replied. The comment seemed to jog his memory. "You know, Henricksen had a mark as well."

"What did it look like?" Bobby asked.

Sam moved to the desk and quickly sketched it out. He showed it to Dean, who nodded. Harry stood and shuffled a few steps to the desk - it wouldn't be good to let himself get too stiff - to also get a look.

"It was on Cedric as well," he confirmed. He hadn't taken much note of it when Cedric was there, but then he'd been a little bit preoccupied by the torture.

"I may have seen this before," Bobby said, grabbing the paper out of Sam's hand to get a better look before turning back to his bookshelves. "We gotta move."

"Where?" Sam asked.

"Someplace safe, you idjit," Bobby explained.

He grabbed some more books, handing them off to Sam and Dean before leading them through the house and down into the basement. Dean looked back at Harry before following, to see if he needed help, but Harry shook his head. He moved along on his own, using every ounce of energy to look like he felt fine again, though he was far from it. At least the worst of the shaking was over and Harry could mostly control his movements, even if it hurt like a bitch to do so. He noticed that Sam made sure Harry and Dean preceded him down the stairs. He was the only one who hadn't really been attacked since they arrived home.

Once in the basement, Bobby shuffled them into a somewhat dank, round room hidden behind a heavy metal door. The walls were also made of metal and were lined with weapons. The floor was covered in one giant design that Harry now knew to be a Devil's trap.

"Bobby," Sam began, looking around, "is this -?"

"Solid iron," Bobby confirmed. "Completely coated in salt. One hundred percent ghost proof."

"You built a panic room?" Sam asked in surprise.

Bobby shrugged as though it was no big deal. "What? I had a weekend off."

"Bobby." Dean smiled in appreciation. "You're awesome."

At that point, Harry was in complete agreement. "So, what do we do now?"

Bobby looked over at him as though he was from a different planet. "We figure out how to stop it."

He took all of the books back and moved them to a desk before sitting down in front of it to research. Sam and Dean shrugged and decided their best move would be making more rock salt bullets. They showed Harry the ropes and before long he was as efficient at it as they were. No one spoke for awhile, the only noises those of shuffling pages and bullets being made, but eventually Dean felt the need to break the silence.

"See, this is why I can't get behind God," he said, seemingly out of the blue, though Harry knew his thoughts must have been leading there for quite some time. "If he doesn't exist, fine, bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is. Random horrible evil, I get it, ok? I can roll with that.

"But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all of these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself, y'know? Why doesn't he help?"

There was another moment of silence. Sam looked to Harry and Bobby pleadingly.

"I get it," Harry spoke up. "I've asked myself that so many times in my life and I find that it's easier just … not to. Because there isn't an answer. I'll probably never know, even when I die."

"But that's the thing," Dean said. "If I've got angels appearing to me -"

"_An_ angel," Sam corrected.

"_An_ angel appearing to me," Dean continued, "and angels are connected to god, then why should I trust an angel if I can't even trust in God himself?"

Even Harry didn't know how to respond to that. He joined Sam in looking at Bobby.

"I ain't touching this one with a ten foot pole. And anyways, I think I've found it," the older hunter announced.

"What?" Sam asked.

"The symbol you saw, it's the Mark of the Witness," he said.

"Witness?" Sam asked. "Witness to what?"

"The supernatural. None of them died what you'd call ordinary deaths. I'm assuming," he added, looking over at Harry, who nodded. "See, these ghosts were forced to rise. They woke up in agony, they're like rabid dogs. It ain't their fault. Someone rose 'em. On purpose."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Do I look like I know?" Bobby asked. "But whoever it was used a spell so powerful it left a mark. And it's part of a big plan. It's called the Rising of the Witnesses that figures into an ancient prophecy."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What book is that prophecy from?"

"Well, the widely distributed version is just for tourists, you know, but, uh, long story short … Revelations. This is a sign boys."

"A sign of what?" Sam and Dean asked in unison.

If the situation hadn't been so nauseatingly serious, Harry probably would have smirked. Unfortunately, it wasn't even a little bit amusing.

Bobby looked at the Winchesters but avoided Harry's gaze. "The apocalypse."

Harry felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Dean looked similar, and Sam's face just twitched.

"The apocalypse," Dean stated. "As in, the _apocalypse_, apocalypse? The four horsemen, pestilence, five dollar a gallon gas apocalypse?"

"That's the one," Bobby agreed.

"So what do we do now?" Harry asked.

"Well, what have you always wanted to do before you die?" Dean asked. "I vote we head out to the Grand Canyon and then … Bunny Ranch."

Harry wasn't sure what the Bunny Ranch was, but he wasn't thinking much about it. The only thing he had ever really _allowed_ himself to want before he died was defeating Voldemort. He honestly hadn't believed he would live through it. Not that he necessarily would; at this point, with the knowledge he had, it looked like his earlier assumptions were probably correct. That was, if he managed to defeat the dark wizard at all. The apocalypse threw a bit of a wrench in his plans, but he supposed it didn't matter. If the whole world ended, Voldemort would go down with it as well. Wouldn't he?

"First things first," Bobby replied. "How about we survive our friends out there?"

"Any ideas, aside from staying in this room until judgement day?" Dean asked.

Bobby pointed to the pages in front of him. "It's a spell, to send the witnesses back to rest. Should work."

"Should? Great," Sam, who had remained fairly quiet up until now, said with a sarcastic chuckle.

"If I translated correctly," Bobby added. "I think I've got everything we need in the house."

"Wouldn't happen to have it here in this room, would you?" Dean asked.

Bobby snorted. "Right, like our luck is starting _now_. Spell has to be cast over an open fire."

"The library," Sam realized.

"Bingo," Bobby agreed.

"This is not as appealing as a ghost-proof panic room, y'know?" Dean asked.

Anyone in the room would certainly agree to that, but as appealing as it would have been to stay, they couldn't hold out much longer. They didn't have any food with them, and as Harry had avoided eating much of anything due to all the driving, it was nearing a full day since he'd last eaten anything. At one time, maybe it wouldn't have bothered him, but he wasn't in that habit anymore. The Cruciatus curses he'd taken certainly didn't help either.

By mutual consent, they gathered up their newly made salt rounds and guns, Bobby making sure he had all of the instructions for the spell. Sam and Dean gave Harry a gun as well, and although Sam had only shown him how to use one a couple times, Harry felt better with it in his hands. He certainly didn't know any magic that would work on a ghost. Bracing themselves for whatever may come, they exited the panic room in single file, planning to make their way straight to the library.

Everything went fine, until they reached the stairs. There, sitting at the top, was another ghost who apparently knew both Sam and Dean. Neither of the younger hunters seemed inclined to attack, so Bobby did it for them, the portly man disappearing as soon as the bullet hit him.

They quickly ran up the stairs and into the library. Bobby set up the book near the fire place, Sam and Dean quickly drawing a salt line before Bobby giving them instructions to fetch supplies.

"You," he said to Harry. "You're a wizard. When they get back in here, you can start mixing up these herbs." He pointed to the recipe in the book and Harry started scanning it immediately. Now wasn't the time to admit that he was pants at potion making; this wasn't really a _potion_ anyway, just a mixture of herbs. At least he recognized them all.

A moment later, they heard a crash coming from the kitchen. "Dean?" Bobby called.

"I'm fine, Bobby," Dean's voice called back. "Just keep working."

Bobby looked over at Harry. "Go check on him," he ordered.

Harry hurried to the kitchen only to find that the same ghost which had attacked Sam at the gas station was now threatening Dean. The former FBI agent was talking to Dean, though Harry couldn't focus on his words. He cocked the gun and aimed it, but hesitated. What if he hit Dean? Rock salt wouldn't kill him, but it would hurt like hell. Henricksen was doing something else now, though, reaching his hand out to Dean's chest. Dean was clearly in agony.

_It's just like aiming a spell,_ Harry told himself, _except with the recoil_. Taking a deep breath, he aimed the gun and pulled the trigger. The rock salt hit the ghost dead on, and not a moment too soon. Dean looked over at Harry, relief apparent on his face.

"Thanks."

Sam appeared in the room at that moment. He assessed the situation quickly, before pulling the other two back into the library with Bobby. Harry took the box in Dean's hands and was about to begin mixing herbs, as Bobby was still busy drawing runes, when he looked up and saw him.

It had been in the back of his head, ever since Cedric had shown up. But he hadn't thought, hadn't _really_ thought …

"Sirius?" he whispered. "Please, no. Sirius."

"You were expecting me, Harry?" he asked. "Maybe even hoping I would show? You'd certainly love a reunion with your dear, dead godfather."

"Sirius, don't do this. Please," Harry begged. Sam, Dean, and Bobby were all watching him, but Harry's vision had narrowed. The only thing he could focus on was the ghost in front of him.

Sirius smirked. The evil in it made him feel sick. This was the Black in Sirius, coming out because it had been forced to. This was the Sirius his parents wished he had been.

"Poor little Harry," he sneered. "Are you frightened? Are you afraid of what I'm going to do to you? You didn't seem too worried about what happened to me when you went running off to the Ministry, knowing I would have to follow. You didn't seem too scared about what would happen to _me_!"

"Sirius, I, I didn't know, I … I thought he had you!" Harry pleaded.

"Harry, duck!" Sam shouted.

But Harry didn't listen, he couldn't. He wasn't even registering the fact that Sam had spoken to him. He looked at Sirius, at the hatred in his eyes that was all directed right at Harry. Then, he disappeared. Dean stood to the side, looking satisfied with himself.

"Dean, watch out!" Sam called.

Dean turned away from Harry just in time to see Ron, who had been shot while holding up a bank in attempt to get at what was actually a shape shifter, standing not two feet away, a manic smile on his face. Harry continued to stare at the spot where Sirius had just been. Bobby mixed the herbs quickly, seeing that Harry was, at this point, a lost cause.

"Ron, c'mon, I thought we were buddies," Dean tried to reason.

"That was when I was alive, Now I'm going to eat you," Ron replied happily.

"Yeah? I'm not a cheeseburger!" Dean yelled, shooting Ron just in time.

"Harry, Harry, Harry." Sirius had reappeared by now. "Did you think it would so easy to get rid of me? Well, it's not. You're such a coward; you're as pathetic as Snivellus."

"No, Sirius," Harry denied.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes," Sirius insisted. "You watched as Bella attacked me and didn't do a thing. You watched me falling through the veil and you didn't even lift a finger, Harry! You don't deserve to call yourself the son of James Potter!"

"I wanted to help you," Harry insisted. "I couldn't get to you, Sirius. I couldn't do anything."

"But you were supposed to help me, Harry. You were supposed to save me! I came there to save you and you let me die," he said. "_Crucio_!"

Harry _wanted_ to die as the curse hit him for the third time that day. Luckily, it didn't last long that time as Sam finally had enough of a break in the onslaught of ghosts to take Sirius out. It was only a moment later, when Meg reappeared, that he realized he was out of salt rounds.

Harry was prone on the floor, his gun forgotten by his feet. Sirius reappeared and Harry whimpered, but Dean shot at him right away, reaching down a second later to swoop up the only gun that still had bullets. He turned and shot at Meg, who had Sam trapped behind a heavy desk.

Unfortunately, with Dean trying to defend himself, Sam, and Harry, it meant that no one was defending Bobby. Bobby cried out just as Sirius reappeared on the scene. Dean turned to find the creepy twin ghosts reaching towards Bobby, wanting blood. Bobby let out a few more strangled words in what was possibly Latin, before yelling in agony again, the metal bowl falling from his hands.

"Dean!" he called.

Dean was forced to ignore Harry's latest agonized screams and hoped that Sam had managed to get his hands on the last gun or, at the very least, some kind of iron, as he dove for the bowl, managing to catch it just before it hit the ground. He was almost kind of shocked, and paused for a moment before looking up at Bobby.

"Into the fire, Dean!" he instructed.

Dean pulled himself up onto his knees, careful not to let the bowl tip, and tossed all of its contents into the fire. Suddenly, a blue-white light flared up out of the hearth and simultaneously engulfed all of the witnesses that were present in the room. A moment later, the eerie light was gone. Harry's screams stopped, though Dean could hear a low moan emanating from him, and Bobby collapsed to the ground.

Sam looked over at Dean. They were both thinking the same thing: they'd like to collapse as well. Dean sighed and looked around the room. The ghosts had been put back to rest, they were in no immediate danger, and there was no reason any of them had to move, at least for the next five minutes or so. The brothers looked back over at each other, and then Sam allowed himself to slide down the wall he'd been leaning against, finally letting himself relax. Dean followed suit, letting his body loll back onto the floor, breathing in and out, long, deep breaths. It appeared they would live to see another day.

* * *

Hours later found them bedded down for the night. After lying on the floor of the library for a good while, Sam and Dean had both found the strength to get themselves up and check on their two companions. Bobby and Harry had insisted they were fine, though it was clear that they both needed, at the least, a good night's rest. To be honest, all four of them needed to sleep.

Nevertheless, Harry picked himself up off the ground and assisted Sam in cleaning the library while Dean went for food. He was trying desperately not to think about Sirius, and the things he'd said to Harry. He knew that it wasn't Sirius's fault, that the ghost hadn't really been Sirius at all, but his reassurances to himself were weak at best. He had told his friends, a long time ago by now, that he was over his godfather's death; or, if not over it, at least able to move on and stop blaming himself for it so completely. But that wasn't entirely true. Harry had always known that if he had listened to Snape during Occlumency lessons and listened to Hermione when she suggested it might be a fake vision, Sirius might still be alive right now. He might not, certainly; enough other people had died in the war since then, but at least his death wouldn't be on Harry's hands.

Harry wanted to forgive himself for the entire thing. He really did. He knew that it was neither healthy nor productive to harp on things that he couldn't change, but that didn't stop him from wanting to curl up into a ball and forget about everything. He hated that, after everything he'd been through, he was still so weak. The Winchesters and Bobby had all faced their own past failures, and while they weren't exactly a cheerful bunch at the moment, none of them seemed to be close to a mental breakdown.

The thing was … the thing was that everything the witnesses had said to Sam and Dean and Bobby was probably not true. That Henricksen guy: he had been trying to claim that Sam and Dean were responsible for his death, but they hadn't even been there when it happened. How were they to know that Lilith would come after they left?

But Harry's ghosts, well, most of what they had said was true, and the things that weren't were close enough. Harry _had_ known that the tournament was a trap. There was no other reason he would have been entered against his will, and in a category that assured he would be magically bound to participate. And since he made it through to the end at the young and untrained age of fourteen … if he had stopped to think about it, he would have realized that something was going to happen. He could have prevented Cedric's death. At the very least, upon arriving in the graveyard, he could have attempted to stop the attack on the Hogwarts champion. Instead, he had stood there, frozen.

Just as he had stood there earlier that evening, frozen by the sight of Sirius and by his words. Bobby and Dean and Sam, they had needed him. But instead of him helping them, they'd had to cover _his_ back. Sirius was right. He was a coward. He had run to the Ministry without thinking, and then expected the Order to clean up his mess. He had watched Sirius falling, falling, falling towards and then through the veil, and he'd let Remus hold him back. He'd barely tried to fight the werewolf off; he had simply stood there and watched as the closest thing he'd ever had to a parent died because Harry had been foolish and reckless.

And now, tonight, his weakness had almost gotten Bobby killed. He knew this from what little had been said as the hunters discussed what had happened. Dean had been trying to defend himself as well as keep Sirius from attacking Harry, and he had forgotten to keep an eye on Bobby. If Dean had taken any longer, the twins might have succeeded in taking the older man's life. If Dean hadn't been able to catch the bowl of herbs, the spell would have failed and they _all_ would have died.

After everything that had happened, he was frankly quite embarrassed to have to face the hunters like that, knowing they probably would have been better off without him there. He was grateful when, after getting the library back in order and having something to eat, Bobby concluded that they should pack it in for the night and worry about figuring the rest of it out in the morning.

As Harry's body was still trembling lightly, a common effect of having been under the Cruciatus curse for so long, Sam and Dean insisted that he take the couch. Harry would have argued, but he went to the bathroom and when he came back, the brothers were already set up on the floor. He had stretched out on it, the cushions surprisingly comfortable, taking into account, of course, the fact that his whole body was stiff with pain and fatigue, and drifted off into a light sleep.

Now, though, he was waking, the sound of voices washing over him and pulling him from his slumber. On the floor below him, Sam lay still sleeping, but Dean wasn't. Harry rubbed his eyes and looked up, quickly spotting the hunter standing in the kitchen. He was speaking to someone whose figure was mostly hidden from Harry's view.

It took Harry a moment to focus on the words that were being spoken, Dean's voice becoming more clear. " … Not dicks," he was saying in clipped tones, and Harry raised an eyebrow to himself as he slipped quietly out from under the blanket.

"Read the Bible," a second voice replied dryly. "Angels are warriors of God. I'm a solider."

"Yeah, then why didn't you fight?" Dean asked.

Harry, meanwhile, listened with interest, having realized that the person Dean was speaking with must be Castiel. He stood from the bed as quietly as possible and moved around Sam. He managed not to bring attention to himself; Castiel and Dean were quite focused on each other while Harry took the opportunity to study the angel.

Castiel didn't look anything like Harry had expected him to look. All right, so Dean _had_ said that he looked like any ordinary person, that he looked like the "vessel" he was residing in, dressed in a suit and trench coat. Nevertheless, Harry had expected there would be _something_ angelic about him. Some inexplicable glow or a glint in his eyes. But Dean had been right. It would be impossible for a human to look at Castiel and know that he wasn't one as well. In fact, Harry might have doubted the fact that the man speaking with Dean was an angel at all if not for the strange feeling that had washed over him the moment he woke. It was as though his entire soul was reaching for the angel's, and would stop at nothing to experience it.

He took a few more steps towards the kitchen, unsure of whether he should announce his presence or not.

"I'm not here to perch on your shoulder," Castiel informed Dean before Harry'd had a chance to make up his mind. "We had larger concerns."

Then, to Harry's great surprise, the angel's eyes shifted away from Dean and landed directly on Harry. It was obvious that he'd known Harry was there the entire time. He let his eyes linger for a few seconds before turning back to Dean, who didn't seem to have noticed Castiel's distraction.

"Larger concerns? There were people getting torn to _shreds_ down here."

Dean's voice was filled with anger. Harry hadn't expected he would feel anger towards an angel, but he sympathized with what Dean was saying. If they had cared enough to pull Dean out of hell, then why would they risk allowing him to be torn to shreds by some ghosts? Not to mention all of the other hunters out there who actually _had_ died, hunters who would be sorely missed.

"And by the way: while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss? If there _is_ a God."

"There's a God," Castiel insisted emotionlessly.

"I'm not convinced," Dean replied. "Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards who are stuck down here?

"The Lord works …"

"If you say 'in mysterious ways' so help me I will kick your ass," Dean growled out.

Castiel held his hands up in surrender. Harry was beginning to feel, once again, like it was something he shouldn't be watching. But Castiel knew that he was there, knew that he was listening, and didn't seem inclined to stop it.

"So Bobby was right then? About the witnesses. This is a sign of the apocalypse?"

"That's why we're here," Castiel explained. "Big things are afoot."

"Do I want to know what kinds of things?" Dean asked.

"I sincerely doubt it, but you need to know," Castiel told him seriously. "The Raising of the Witnesses is one of the sixty six seals. Those seals are being broken. By Lilith."

"She did the spell. She rose the witnesses," Dean realized.

Castiel nodded. "And not just here. Twenty other hunters are dead."

"Of course. She picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us."

"Lilith has a certain sense of humor," Castiel observed.

_A sick one_, Harry thought to himself. Not that Voldemort didn't. And Voldemort wasn't even a demon, though he was as evil as one, for all intents and purposes. He had to hold back a shiver.

"Well we put those spirits back to rest," Dean pointed out.

"Doesn't matter. The seal was broken."

"Why break the seal, anyway?" Dean wondered.

"You think of the seals as locks on a door."

"Ok, last one opens, and …?"

"Lucifer walks free," Castiel said.

Harry would have sworn he could actually feel the air in the room grow more tense; the hairs on his arms were starting to stand up. Lucifer was real? God and the devil and all that were real? Although he wasn't up to laughing at the moment, Harry thought there was some humor in the fact that everything he knew about religion, which was at least as strange and fantastic as the magical world, came from his time with the Dursleys. When he had entered the wizarding world, no one had spoken to him about religion. He'd never even heard Hermione discussing it in an intellectual fashion. But if all of this were true, shouldn't wizards know about it?

He almost missed the fact that Dean was speaking again. "Lucifer? I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school," the young hunter said. "There's no such thing."

"Three days ago you thought there was no such thing as me," Castiel replied. "Why do you think we're here now, roaming the earth amongst you?"

"To stop Lucifer," Dean whispered.

Castiel's nod was small but obvious.

"Well. Bang up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses," Dean commended.

"We tried. There are other battles. Other seals; some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost." He paused at Dean's defiant sigh. "Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here. You should show me some respect."

Harry watched as Dean looked down, away. As though he knew he should be contrite. Though Harry didn't know Dean very well, he thought this seemed out of character for him.

When Dean again met his eyes, Castiel continued in a low, dangerous voice. "I dragged you out of hell. I can throw you back in."

Harry didn't mean to, he _really_ didn't, but he let out a loud gasp. Everything about this angel _felt_ so right to him. Yet Castiel's words didn't _sound_ right. How could an angel threaten to throw someone back to hell? Maybe it would be understandable if it was someone truly evil, someone like Voldemort, but to threaten Dean? When the worst he had done was question.

The noise he had made attracted the attention of both Castiel and Dean, the latter of whom finally realized that someone else was listening in. His head swiveled around so fast it might have caused whiplash. Harry wasn't sure whether he had been expecting Sam or if it was that he simply hadn't been expecting anyone at all, but he looked shocked to find the wizard there, leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and living room. His eyes widened and then narrowed.

"What are you doing awake?" he barked in a soft voice. "You should be resting."

"I needed Harry awake as well. There are things he needs to hear," Castiel explained to Dean. He looked over to Harry. "Answers that you've been waiting for. I'm sorry I wasn't able to return to you sooner."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, confused. The angel definitely seemed to know him, seemed to have actually met him before, though Harry couldn't figure where or when.

Dean's face was pale, perhaps from Castiel's last comment to him, but it didn't stop him from speaking again. He turned back to face the angel. "I'm sorry, but what does he even have to do with it, anyway? I've been wondering that ever since he told us he was following Sam around just because he knew he needed to."

Castiel didn't look away from Harry as he answered Dean. "Harry sometimes knows things without understanding them."

"What the hell kind of an answer is that, anyway?" Dean asked.

Somehow, he was unaware that Castiel and Harry were staring at each other as though an invisible cord connected them. Harry couldn't decide whether it made him feel terribly uncomfortable or joyfully at ease; it was an odd juxtaposition of the two.

When neither angel nor wizard replied, Dean continued. "What exactly is it with this kid? I asked him about you, about angels, like you told me to, and he didn't know anything. Isn't that right, Harry?"

This seemed to capture Castiel's attention. He glanced over at Dean and then back at Harry. "Why would you tell him that?"

"Because it's the truth," Harry replied sharply, beginning to wonder if it was some kind of joke. "I've never seen you before in my life. I didn't know angels existed until Dean said he'd been rescued by one."

Castiel's gaze on him grew intense.

"Is he lying?" Dean asked.

"No," Castiel said, sounding surprised himself. "No, I can see that he isn't lying."

"Why would I possibly lie about something like this, anyway?" Harry inquired.

Castiel shook his head. "No, you wouldn't. I see that now. I just didn't know … I never imagined that _you_ wouldn't know."

"That I wouldn't know what?" Harry asked.

Frustration was evident in his voice. Trying to wrestle answers out of the angel was ten times more maddening than trying to decipher Dumbledore's mysterious comments had ever been.

"You didn't _know_ that angels existed?" Castiel asked in wonder.

"I just told you that I didn't," Harry growled.

"But, the night you were attacked … you survived. The Killing curse actually hit you and you survived it."

If Dean was confused, he didn't say anything, instead choosing to listen to the exchange between wizard and angel.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Because of my mum's sacrifice. Because she gave her life for mine, and her love protected me."

Castiel didn't react to Harry's explanation. He didn't react to anything for a few moments. Harry could practically sense his inner conflict. What exactly was it that Harry was supposed to know about angels? Had they somehow been involved with the events of that Halloween night?

Finally Castiel took a breath and steeled his gaze on Harry. "It was not your mother's sacrifice which saved you that night, Harry. It was me. It was the blood I gave you so that you would not die."

* * *

_~CE~_

Once again, I won't be offended if you don't review, but all the same, it is appeciated.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Here is chapter four. I am putting it out now because this weekend is going to be superbusy and I don't know when I'll have a chance to post let alone get any writing done. Not much to say this time. This chapter isn't superexciting, but after the last one, I think everyone needs a break (everyone meaning my characters). Kinda.

Standard disclaimers apply. I only wish I owned it (especially the Harry Potter part cause then I'd be richer than the queen!)

* * *

_Falling Through, Chapter Four_

When Harry woke the next morning, it was, unexpectedly, to a hazy, achy disorientation. Of course, the burning tightness of his muscles and pounding headache that he had come to associate with having suffered under the Cruciatus curse were present, but it was more than that. He felt exhausted, his throat was raw, and he was shivering under the thick wool blanket that covered him even though he was fairly certain the room wasn't particularly cold.

Sam and Dean were already up. Their blankets and pillows were cleared from the floor. Harry could hear voices coming from the kitchen, but when trying to sit up made his head spin, he let himself flop back onto the couch and pulled the blankets more tightly around him. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, as if willing himself to feel better would make it so, before Dean's head turned towards him. The hunter's eyes raked over his prone form, assessing him, then finally ending on his face. He seemed surprised to see that Harry was awake.

"Hey, you gonna get up or what?" he asked, bringing Sam and Bobby's attention to him as well. "Figured we'd let you sleep in after the little angelic interlude last night, but we've got a lot of things to discuss, don't you think?"

Harry rolled onto his side, groaning a little, so he could get a better look at his companions. "Feel like shit," he replied, his throat raspy.

Another case of chills made his body shake, and Sam quickly crossed the room. He lay a hand on Harry's head momentarily. "Shit, man, you're burning up!"

"You think?" Harry replied tightly, shrugging away from Sam's touch.

"When did you get sick?"

"Best guess? Between when I last fell asleep and now," Harry answered.

From across the room, Dean sighed. "Well, I guess our plans for heading out today are shot."

Harry was only vaguely aware of the fact that this meant Dean had accepted Harry as a part of their hunts now, whether or not that meant he trusted him now.

"What can I do for you?" Sam asked.

"Wish I had pepper-up," Harry mumbled, not thinking about the fact that Sam wouldn't even understand what he was talking about. "Just wanna sleep."

"You should take something first, try to get your fever down," Sam told him. "Then you can go back to sleep."

Harry lay uncomfortably on the couch while Sam disappeared from his side. He returned a couple minutes later with two pills and a glass of water. Harry swallowed the tablets dry and only drank the water when Sam insisted upon it. He then rolled over to face the back of the couch, curled up on his side. It wasn't long before the vague intonations coming from across the room lulled him back into a restless sleep.

"He'll be fine," he heard Sam saying in low tones. "He'll ride it out the same way we always do."

"Not like I couldn't use a couple days to step back from everything. I got pulled outta hell and have been running around ever since," Dean reasoned.

"And we didn't have another case in mind yet."

"Well, I don't know what you chuckleheads are thinking, but are we sure he's not just faking this or something?"

"How would you even fake a fever?" Sam asked.

"To point out the obvious: magic," Bobby replied. "Maybe he's trying to put off the conversation he knows we're going to have."

"What would be the point?" Sam was getting frustrated. "If he didn't want to talk to us, he could just disappear. Trust me, I've seen him do it."

"Well, you can't blame me for being suspicious," Bobby sighed.

"Well, that's settled then," Dean interrupted. "So what's on the agenda today, since it seems we're sticking around?"

If Sam thought it was odd that Dean was changing the subject without even attempting to interject his two cents on the matter, he didn't comment. His brother hadn't revealed to them exactly what the angel had said the night before; he had only informed Sam and Bobby that Harry had been a part of the conversation, and both hunter and wizard had been beyond surprised at some of the revelations. Whatever it was, though, seemed to have left Dean mollified enough that he didn't feel the need to be constantly suspicious around Harry.

"I don't know about you boys," Bobby said. "But this old man needs some more rest. And we all need to learn more about the apocalypse. The more information we have, the better we'll be able to try and stop it."

"Since clearly the angels aren't going to be able to handle it themselves," Dean muttered. "Speaking of, I think I need to read some more of those books, Bobby." He paused, and glanced over at Harry. "Castiel is definitely … not what you'd expect an angel to be."

"Well, you both know what I want: revenge on Lilith. You may have gotten out of hell Dean, but no thanks to her. Besides, if she's the one trying to break all these seals, then taking her out would at least delay the apocalypse. Put a wrench in all the demon plans," Sam pointed out.

"Sounds like a game plan to me," Dean concluded. "Only one thing first: coffee ain't gonna cut it for me. Food run?"

Both he and Bobby looked over at Sam. The youngest hunter sighed in defeat. "Why is it that you suddenly have no problem with me driving your 'baby' when I'm going to get food for you?"

"Uh … cause you're getting food for me?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "Fine. What do you want?"

Dean smirked, patting his little brother on the back placatingly as he spouted off his order. He waited until Sam had gone out the door and the roar of the Impala disappeared into the distance before following Bobby to the stacks of books, picking up a few more about angels. Dean knew that he needed to read them for more information on angels, but that didn't mean he was going to enjoy it.

* * *

Harry slept for the entire day, interrupted only by brief periods of consciousness. Sometimes he woke on his own, usually because he had grown uncomfortable on the couch, and after shifting into a different position would quickly fall back asleep. Other times he was shaken awake by Sam or Dean, who seemed to be keeping track of when he took medicine and when he could have more. Harry thought it was sad that they, two young men he barely knew and one of whom barely trusted him, were taking better care of him than the Dursleys had ever attempted to.

The only time he woke up for a significant period of time was when Dean had forced him awake enough to eat something. Harry had not been hungry; he had been the opposite of hungry. But despite his weak protests that anything he ate would just be thrown up, Dean had insisted. He tried reasoning with Harry, saying that he needed to keep his strength up if he wanted to get well quickly, but in the end it took threats of him physically feeding Harry to get the wizard to obey. Harry wouldn't admit at it the time, but the chicken soup had made him feel a little bit better, and it did, in fact stay down. After that, he'd gone back to sleep and rested more peacefully than before.

Upon waking the next morning, Harry felt better. Not great, not like he'd exactly enjoy hunting some demons or ghosts or creatures, but like he could do it if he had to. Sun was shining in through the cracks in the drapes, illuminating the dust in the air. Harry could smell the aroma of coffee wafting out of the kitchen, but the house was oddly silent.

Sam and Dean had camped out in another room for the night. They had taken care of Harry the previous day, but apparently they hadn't wanted to breathe in his germs all night. This was why Harry didn't realize until after he'd visited the bathroom to empty his bladder and wash up that the brothers were nowhere to be found. Neither was Bobby for that matter, but it was only a minute before Harry heard his heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs. He came straight into the kitchen, where Harry was standing.

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked him.

"Do I look like a psychic to you?" Bobby shot back. Harry realized that he sounded worried. "Both of 'em were gone before I got up. The weird part: the Impala's still parked outside."

Harry frowned. "Where would they have gone without the Impala?"

"Nowhere good," Bobby said. "I'm thinking not willingly."

"But wouldn't we have heard some kind of struggle, if someone had come in or something?" Harry asked.

"I doubt you would've. You've been dead to the world for a good thirty hours," Bobby pointed out. "But I should have heard something."

"So what do we do?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Bobby replied. "At least until we've got a better of idea of what's going on."

"So how do we do that?"

In response, Bobby held up a phone and waved it in Harry's face a few times.

"You mean you haven't even tried calling them yet?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I did, you idjit!" Bobby responded. He looked about ready to hit Harry over the side of the head, and he might have if Harry wasn't still, at least a bit, ill. "Sam didn't answer, and Dean's went straight to voicemail. I'm going to try some other contacts who might know something or other."

Harry didn't reply, and Bobby moved away from the young wizard, sitting down at his kitchen table with a full cup of black coffee. Worry lines were etched on his face; Harry had a feeling that the situation was more dire than Bobby was letting on. After all, why would both brothers have disappeared at the same time, not be answering their phones, and with the Impala sitting safe and sound outside Bobby's house? Whatever the explanation, it probably wasn't a good one. The only good sign, as far as Harry could tell, was that there hadn't been any sign of a struggle.

"Wait," he said as Bobby started rifling through numbers. "What am I supposed to do then?"

"You know what would be helpful? You find some way to get that angel of yours back here," Bobby told him, turning sharply to stare at Harry.

"What? He's not _my_ angel," Harry spluttered.

"Dean's angel, your angel, _the_ angel. Whatever. I'd bet _he_ knows what's going on," Bobby replied. "Meanwhile, you should get yourself something to eat. You look like a zombie."

Harry grumbled, but it was true. He waited, unsure of himself in the unfamiliar space, until Bobby had gulped down half his cup of coffee and dialed the first number before digging into the kitchen. Apparently, someone had gotten food the previous day - and not just the greasy kind that came from the diner already prepared. Harry fixed himself a bowl of cereal and ate before retiring back into the library.

He was tired again and probably could have gone back to sleep except for the fact that he was too worried about Sam and Dean. He thought about what Bobby had told him to do, to call for Castiel, only Harry didn't know how. What did Bobby mean, anyway? Did he want Harry to perform the summoning ritual? Somehow, he didn't think that was what the older hunter had meant. But how then was he supposed to reach Castiel? Would the angel hear him if he just … spoke his name aloud? Quite literally just called for him?

Harry looked around the room, as though he was going to find someone unexpectedly there. Bobby was still in the kitchen, making phone calls. His voice was becoming more resigned with each new contact, which Harry had to force himself not to think about. And, of course, there was no one else even remotely nearby. So if Harry made a complete fool of himself, it wasn't like there'd be anyone there to see it.

"Castiel?"

His voice seemed quiet and unsure, the name disintegrating even as it dripped from his lips. Nothing happened. Not that he was really expecting it to. But perhaps if he was more forceful?

"Castiel. Castiel."

Still the words seemed to disappear into the void, into nothing.

"Castiel!" Harry commanded, as loudly as he dared. It wasn't so loud, considering he was trying to avoid catching Bobby's attention.

The angel did not appear. Harry wasn't surprised, really he wasn't, though he'd been hoping it was that simple. He'd been hoping that angels had some sort of special homing power (otherwise how had Castiel managed to find him and Dean at Bobby's, anyway?). He considered trying again, but it didn't seem likely that it would make any sort of difference. If Castiel _could_ hear Harry calling his name from beyond time and space and whatever else normally separated man from angels, he could probably hear him just fine in a whisper. Yelling would probably just annoy him.

Nevertheless, Harry couldn't help but feel particularly pathetic and useless. Here he was, still too sick to really do anything and with no idea what to do even if he could, and Sam and Dean could be out there, in danger. Even Bobby was doing _something_. He racked his brain for some kind of spell that might help, but if one existed (and it was possible that one did) he didn't know what it might be.

Sighing, he stood from the couch, pulling the wool blanket he'd slept under around him like a cloak before padding across the room to a particularly worn leather chair. It's cushion was soft and the padding was dented in the middle so that Harry seemed to sink into it when he sat. Piled on the floor next to it was a stack of books that Harry recognized: they were the books Bobby had collected from around his library that had information on angels, the books he and Dean had only started to read when Bobby pulled them away to go check on the hunter Olivia.

He picked up the top one on the pile. It wasn't the thin one Dean had originally picked up to read, and nor was it the thicker one Harry had skimmed the first chapter of. It looked even older than either of those, bound with an unadorned leather cover. When Harry opened the front cover and flipped the first few pages in search of a title, he found they were grainy and yellow with age.

He flipped a few more pages, hoping for some sort of content list, though he wasn't surprised when none existed, much like most of the older books in the Hogwarts library. He started to look through it, skimming the words more than actually reading them closely, trying to get an idea of what the book contained. He saw some clear information about the different orders of angels that existed, including some rather poor little sketches, some of which were tiny and seemed to have been squeezed in amongst the text, others which took up whole pages.

He also noticed, not far in, what appeared to be greasy fingerprints on the edges of some of the pages. Apparently Dean had decided to read while he ate or, at least, didn't wash his hands before picking the book back up. Harry hoped for everyone's sake that Bobby didn't notice the marks, smirking to himself as he thumbed through to see how many Dean had left and thus, possibly, how far along he'd gotten in his reading.

He was nearly half-way through the book when the fingerprints stopped. There was actually a folded piece of paper stuck between the pages of the book. It was in a section that talked about various angels having visited earth. If the information there was anything to go by, Castiel had been exaggerating when he claimed that no angels had walked the earth in over a thousand years. There weren't a great many instances, but angels had visited, off and on, throughout the years. A notable exception was during the period known as the Dark Ages. This did sound vaguely familiar to Harry, but as he'd had a magical education from the age of eleven rather than muggle, he wasn't at all sure about things like basic history. All he knew was that a lot of muggles had been burned because people they thought were witches, and some crazy woman who actually was a witch kept letting herself get "burned" for the fun of it. Stupid Binns and his stupid goblin wars.

Lifting his eyes from the page, he turned his concentration to the piece of paper, curious to know what Dean had found important enough to note down while reading. When he had unfolded it, however, he realized that it wasn't Dean's paper at all. The handwriting was Sam's, and it only contained a few lines: _Dean - Got a lead on Lilith; had to go alone. Shouldn't be gone more than a day. I'll explain when I get home. Sam._

Harry's first thought was to wonder how on earth Sam was going to explain this to his brother and Bobby without giving away the existence of Ruby and the fact that he was using his powers again. His second thought, fleeting, was that at least Sam had left of his own volition and therefore was very likely safe at the moment; or, if not safe, then at least not dead on the side of the road somewhere. This gave way to the fact that they still had no idea where Dean was, which led Harry to back to his initial thoughts of what Sam was going to say to him. Would Dean remember that he'd never heard the full story of what happened the night he and Bobby had summoned Castiel? And if so, would Harry be able to lie convincingly?

First things first, though. Harry stood from the chair, his body still protesting the rough treatment of two days ago, and went into the kitchen. Bobby was on the phone, but his face looked grim and the conversation quickly ended. Harry, who was to Bobby's right and a bit behind him, didn't think that the hunter knew he was there, and was surprised when he spun around and fixed his hard gaze on Harry.

"What do you want?" he grumbled.

"Just found something I thought you might want to see," Harry replied.

He traversed the few steps between himself and the table where Bobby sat, extending the note Sam had left and allowing the older hunter to pull it out of his hands. Bobby skimmed it quickly and then looked up at Harry.

"Where did you find this?"

Harry held up the book Sam had stuck it in. "It was stuck between the pages where Dean must've stopped reading. Why Sam would have stuck it there, I don't know. If Dean had woken up to find his brother missing, the last place he would've thought to look for a note is in the pages of some angel book."

Bobby thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, and if Dean had woken up and not been able to find Sam or reach him by phone, neither of us would've stayed asleep for long."

"So that means that Dean went missing first, right?"

"Well, it could've been that Dean did try calling Sam, and Sam actually answered his call," Bobby pointed out.

"True," Harry agreed. "Because why else would Sam have bothered to leave the note at all if Dean wasn't even around to find it?"

"Unless Sam was in so much of a hurry to get out of here that he didn't bother wondering where Dean was. Maybe figured he was in the bathroom or couldn't sleep or something like that and got out of here before Dean could catch him and insist on tagging along."

This was actually a very possible assessment of the situation, and Harry did his best not to react to it beyond that of someone who knew the same details, or possibly fewer, than Bobby. He wasn't entirely sure that he succeeded, because Bobby gazed at him suspiciously.

"So, in any case, we're assuming that whatever's going on, Sam and Dean aren't together right now. Right?"

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "All right. What exactly do you know?"

Harry stared at him for a long moment, possibly too long. Although his body was completely still and it appeared - he hoped - that he was trying to piece together what Bobby was asking, his mind was reeling for something to say that didn't sound stupid and incriminating. What he ended up with was: "What do you mean?"

"I don't know what I mean," Bobby replied. "But I have a feeling you do. After all, it's you who's been with Sam for the past three months when he couldn't even call once to let me know he was still alive."

Harry shook his head, and hoped that he could forget for a moment what he'd discovered about Sam less than a week before. If he could pretend he'd never gone along that night, then the only thing he would have to remember not to mention was the existence of Ruby.

"Listen, I know that you and Dean don't trust me, and you don't think Sam should either. But … I dunno, maybe he _doesn't_ trust me as much as he appears to. I mean, he defends me to all of you, but it's not like he told me his whole life story or anything. And he didn't always let me tag along when he went off; a lot of times he would leave me alone in the hotel."

"He did?" Bobby asked skeptically.

"He told me that his brother was in hell because of a demon - Lilith. Because Dean had traded his own soul to save Sam," Harry explained, stretching the truth as it was actually Ruby who had revealed that. "He said it was his job to get revenge and there were some things he needed to do alone."

"Now that _does_ sound like Sam," Bobby agreed. "What else did he tell you?"

"Not a lot. He told me that his dad got into hunting after a demon killed his mum, that he wanted revenge. A lot like Sam, I guess. He told me that he and Dean finally managed to kill it a year before we met, but apparently Sam was mortally wounded in the process and that was when Dean made the deal."

"That's what he told you?" Bobby asked.

"Is it not true?" Harry replied. He'd never considered that Sam might have been lying to him.

"Well, it's close enough to the truth. Omitting a few important details, though," Bobby said.

"Oh?"

"Details Sam'll tell you when he wants to. You've already admitted that you didn't tell him everything there is to know about you," Bobby replied.

Harry paused, looking evenly at Bobby. "So in any case, assuming Sam really is off on some lead for Lilith, that means we still have no idea where Dean is and why he didn't take the Impala."

Bobby quirked an eyebrow. "Do you really think you're going to be able to hold me off forever by changing the subject?"

"No," Harry replied. "But I think you're worried enough about Dean that you'll let it slide for now."

Bobby glared, but he didn't deny Harry's statement. "All right … well, I'm taking it you didn't have any luck getting into touch with that angel?"

"Um, no. Apparently yelling out 'Castiel! Castiel!' doesn't do the trick," Harry said. "So unless you want to try one of those summoning rituals again …"

"Not especially. Last time we did that the damn thing nearly killed me," Bobby griped. "Thought angels were supposed to be …"

He was cut off when a movement to the side caught both his and Harry's attention. Leaning against the kitchen counter looking dark and bored and vaguely annoyed was Castiel. He focused his attention on Harry.

"You called?"

Harry swallowed and looked over at Bobby. "Ok, apparently it _does_ work."

"My … _apologies_," Castiel replied, pulling Harry's attention back over to him. "I can't always drop whatever I'm in the middle of to come to you."

"Well excuse me for being concerned that Dean apparently disappeared into thin air sometime last night," Harry replied. "We were wondering if you knew where he is, or if he's all right."

"Dean is fine," Castiel replied, sounding rather like he thought himself too important to have been bothered by something so trivial.

"You don't have to sound so happy about that," Harry told him, beginning to feel a bit annoyed himself.

Castiel suddenly looked a bit contrite. "I'm sorry, Harry," he said, this time sounding somewhat sincere. "There are many things going on right now. It should have occurred to me that you'd be worried. Dean is … doing a favor for me at the moment. I promise he'll be safely returned when it's finished."

"What sort of a favor?" Harry asked.

"That I cannot tell you. Is there anything else you need at the moment?"

"No," Harry answered. "No, if you say Dean is safe, then I suppose he is."

Castiel nodded. "One word of advice, before I go."

Harry nodded, looking at him expectantly.

Castiel reached out and pulled the book from Harry's hands. "I can understand why you're interested in learning more about this," he said. "But at this point, you'd be better served turning your attentions in the opposite direction. I believe your friend here has quite an impressive collection of references on demons."

Harry kneaded his eyebrows, taking the book on angels back out of Castiel's hands when he offered it. "Not that I don't believe you, but why?"

Castiel paused for a long moment. As always, he was considering his words carefully. Harry wished he would be candid. "I have answers for you, Harry. I have a great many answers that you'll need in the months to come. But I can't give them to you until you find the right questions."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Castiel sighed. "You'll understand in time. You have to."

Harry shut his eyes, cursing the angel's cryptic non-answers that so reminded him of his old Headmaster, and when he opened them, ready to demand further clarification, Castiel was gone.

* * *

Late afternoon found Harry lounging in the library, reading a book on demons. After Castiel had left, Bobby had concluded that there was no use in trying to find either of the Winchester boys at the moment. One of them had already managed to elude Bobby for three straight months and the other was being hidden by an angel, so there really was no point. After pulling out a stack of books on demons for Harry (he seemed to feel a bit relieved that Harry apparently didn't know anything about demons, and trusted that Castiel, at least, wasn't putting on some sort of act), he had decided to take a break from the demon-hunting and research and instead headed outside to work on an old car he was fixing up.

The first book Harry picked up was so dry and dull that it lulled him into a deep slumber that lasted well through lunch. Upon waking, he'd felt quite a bit worse than he had that morning, but soup, tea, and twice the recommended dose of medicine had him up and around enough to attempt diving back into the books Bobby had given him. The one that had put him to sleep was quickly abandoned for worry that it would just do the same thing again, and the second was set aside as well for it was in some sort of language that may or may not have been Arabic.

Harry was fairly certain that Hermione had, at some point, found a spell that allowed her to read in any language and that, in fact, she used it quite often. But Harry didn't know what the spell was, didn't even know whether it translated the text of the book or altered the reader's perception such that it was just like reading English, like when he had been able to speak Parseltongue and still think he was talking in English. Unfortunately, he and Ron had always left a bit _too_ much of the research responsibility in Hermione's capable and enthusiastic hands, and now he was ill-equipped to find information on his own.

Of course, it would have helped if he'd known what he was looking for, but of course Castiel couldn't even point him in the general direction. Couldn't even tell him if there was a specific demon, or a specific level of demon, which might be of particular interest. No, he was instead left to wade through pages and pages of muck.

He paid close attention to certain passages. He found a section on crossroads demons and realized that this was how Dean had managed to auction off his own soul for Sam's. He wondered if perhaps this was how he was supposed to get rid of Voldemort? Make a deal with a demon, sell his own soul in order to have Voldemort's destroyed? He hoped not, though. Harry wasn't a coward. He wasn't afraid to die; he'd already once willingly courted death in his attempt to bring peace to the wizarding world. But he'd thought that when he died, he would at least get to see his parents again, and Sirius and Remus and Tonks, and everyone else who had died. But perhaps that wasn't what he deserved. He'd taken too long already, had allowed too many people to die. Maybe hell was the only place he was fit for.

He managed to talk himself out of that one only by remembering that there was an angel helping him, an angel who had willingly given Harry his blood. What did that even mean? It wasn't like Harry had any special powers beyond what a normal wizard would have. So the angel blood had protected him, not his mum's love. Which was actually kind of a depressing revelation, though Harry didn't doubt that his mum _had_ loved him. She and his dad had helped him escape from that graveyard with Cedric's body, so in a way she had saved his life.

In any case, the crossroads demons weren't something to worry about at least until he could ask Castiel about it. How powerful were demons, anyway? The crossroads ones didn't sound particularly high up on the food chain, so maybe they wouldn't even be able to make a deal involving Voldemort, who was obviously more powerful than any mortal creature had the right to be. If one could even call him mortal, anymore, which made him … what exactly?

Ahh! If Hermione were there, she'd probably already have the answer. Harry was starting to forget why he'd insisted that she and Ron stay behind this time, why he'd insisted he needed to do this alone. Frustrated, he slammed the book shut and let it fall heavily to the floor, listening for the loud thunk before throwing his head back over the arm of the couch and shutting his eyes.

Not even a second passed before his self-pity was interrupted. "Hey. Watch how you're treating my books. They ain't some paperback you can just destroy and get a new copy of. They're old and they're rare."

Harry looked up at the now looming figure of Bobby, a glare fixed firmly on his face.

"Er … sorry," Harry apologized. "I was just getting frustrated. I hate sitting around reading for hours; I'm not any good at research."

Bobby still looked irked, but he nodded in understanding. "You're like Dean, then. Me, I could sit around for days with no company but books, and Sam can peruse for hours until he's practically solved a case without even starting it."

"Back home, I have a friend who always does this kind of stuff for me. She loves it. Smartest witch of our generation, everyone says. These books … they remind me of what she'd call some light bedtime reading."

Bobby actually laughed at that. "A friend, huh?"

"Oh," Harry said, blushing. "Not like that. She's with my other best friend. Danced around each other for years, they did, but last year they finally pulled their heads out of their butts, realized they could really and actually _die_."

"So life ain't all rosy back home then?" Bobby asked. "Not that I figured it would be with you running away and all."

Harry turned suddenly vehement. "I'm not running away from anything!" He took a shallow, angry breath. "And you're trying to pry again."

"You can't blame me for being curious," Bobby replied.

"Well, I'm curious about stuff, too," Harry told him. "What do you know about crossroads demons?"

"Nasty sons of bitches,. You probably already know that's how Dean made his deal?" Harry nodded. "Before we caught up with Sam, Dean and I both thought that Sam had done the same thing, offered up himself to get Dean back. The crossroads demons, they have the power to make just about any deal, but not when it involves the Winchester brothers, apparently. Anyway, once they make a deal - which is sealed with a kiss, if you didn't read that - the contract is out of their hands. It goes straight to Lilith."

"Lilith holds the contracts?" Harry asked. He supposed he should have guessed that, but he hadn't really wanted to believe it. "She's really powerful, isn't she? Like one of the most powerful demons there is."

"Possibly the most powerful there is," Bobby agreed. "Far as we can tell, anyway. Why are you so interested?"

Harry's stomach churned, and he wasn't sure whether or not he should reveal what he was thinking. "I think maybe I figured out why I had to come here. What made me feel like I had to stick with Sam. I think I might have to make a deal with her myself."

Bobby didn't say anything right away, and Harry looked resolutely away from the man's face, not wanting to know what he was thinking. "Those are heavy words from a kid your age."

Harry decided to let the "kid" slide. "Look, we both know - and so do Sam and Dean - that I'm not here on some holiday. I've got a job to do and no one to show me how it should be done. The crossroads demons don't sound all that powerful, but if they're bargaining with Lilith's power …"

Bobby sighed. "I'm going to be honest here. You sound like you're in way over your head."

"Oh, I am," Harry agreed. "But there's nothing to be done for that. Anyways, I don't even know if Lilith would be willing to help me. How much is my soul worth? But at least I have some questions to ask Castiel next time he decides to show."

"What exactly did that angel say to you and Dean?" Bobby asked. "He wouldn't tell us, and you were asleep all day yesterday."

Harry looked sideways at the hunter. "You have to promise that when I tell you, you're not going to try and attack me or something," he warned. "I still feel like crap and I don't fancy having to kick your arse."

"Dean didn't seem to want to attack you for it, so I think we'll be all right," Bobby replied.

"All right, then," Harry agreed. He looked up and into Bobby's gaze. "He told me that he gave me some of his blood. When I was a baby."

"He gave you angel blood?" Bobby repeated.

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "I didn't ask for the details - didn't really want them, if I'm being honest - but apparently it was … orally."

"He fed you his blood," Bobby said. Harry couldn't tell what he was thinking. "Well, if that ain't the strangest thing I've heard in awhile. What would he have done that for, anyway?"

Harry shrugged, hedging the question. He wasn't sure he knew the whole answer to that himself, and, barring that, he wasn't sure if he was ready for the conversation.

"Look, I thought I'd made it pretty clear that I ain't gonna try and murder you in your sleep or anything. And between this angel blood thing and you going on about making deals with Lilith, it's obvious you've got yourself in pretty damn deep. Now you've got those boys looking out for you, and they're as close to sons as I'm ever gonna get, so if what you're keeping from me could put them in danger … in more danger than they're already in …"

"Fine," Harry said. He rubbed his hands over his eyes and then over his entire face before letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "But it's going to be the short version, because I don't think I can do the long one more than once."

Bobby conceded on the point. "Go on."

"So, there's this dark wizard back in England, and I've got to kill him. And before you ask, yes, it has to be me. There was a prophecy about it," Harry added quickly. "Anyway, he's been around for awhile. Well, that's not technically true. He was around when my parents were teenagers and stuff, and a prophecy was given before my birth that ended up being about me.

"This dark wizard, he heard part of the prophecy - one of his servants overheard part of it." Harry nearly growled, thinking of Snape's monumental mistake. "He knew it could be about me and he came after me and my parents. Castiel apparently gave me the blood to protect me, so I wouldn't die when he tried to kill me. And clearly it worked."

"Ok, so let me get this straight," Bobby said. "According to some prophecy, you, as a baby, were supposed to defeat some dark wizard, who heard about the prophecy and decided to kill you before you became a threat. But you didn't die because an angel protected you by giving you some of its blood."

"Listen, I know it sounds a little bit far-fetched, but I'd think that in your line of work you'd have something of an open mind," Harry complained.

"I never said it sounded far-fetched," Bobby countered. "With everything that's been happening with Sam and Dean lately it sounds just about on par for the course."

"So you believe me?"

"As stupid as I'll feel if I'm wrong, yeah, I do," Bobby replied. "But I do have one question: this dark wizard, he have a name?"

Harry bit his lip. "Yes," he confirmed.

"Well, what is it?" Bobby asked impatiently.

"I can't say."

"What do you mean you can't say it, idjit?"

"I mean that he put a spell on it. If I say it, he can find me in about five seconds flat. Well. I don't know if the taboo extends past England, to be honest. But I'm not taking the chance."

"Could you write it down?"

Harry considered this for a moment, and decided that writing it should be fine. The way Hermione had explained it, the taboo had been set on the word spoken aloud. "I suppose that would work."

Bobby moved over to his desk and grabbed a pen and a random scrap of paper. Harry took it and quickly jotted down the name before handing it back to Bobby. The moment his eyes landed on the written word, his face went pale.

"You've heard of him," Harry said. It wasn't a question. "Y'know, there's not any settled witches or wizards of my kind on this continent. And we're not supposed to tell any muggles, not even muggle hunters, about what are. Especially not muggle hunters. So how is it that you seem to know so much about the wizarding world?"

Harry was expecting to hear from Bobby about how perhaps he'd hunted a wizard in the past, before realizing that they weren't all evil. Or maybe that the wizard he'd hunted really had been evil, a follower of Voldemort who was on some sort of mission over in the States. What he wasn't expecting was that Bobby would have known and trusted someone of Harry's kind, which was why the next words out of Bobby's mouth shocked him into silence.

"My wife," he replied. "She was a witch."

* * *

_~CE~_

Yeah, so that last part ... that was not part of the story plan, and it's probably not going to play a big role (or any role) in the story, but Bobby wouldn't let me take it out. So, there you have it.

Review if you'd like. I'd like.


End file.
